Sunlight & Static

The city always feels colder when he’s not around, a strange thing to think considering the concrete and glass that trap the summer heat. But it's true.
I trace the seam of my shorts with my thumb – they feel…restrictive, somehow. A ridiculous thought as I remember squeezing into leather for a ride on a real bike; every vibration from the engine feels like a deliberate attempt to rattle your teeth loose and ruin any semblance of composure. What a pointless form of torture compared to this perfectly still moment. His message was simple, just an offer to grab coffee, but there's been something in his eyes lately – a quiet understanding that mirrors my own loneliness.
I glance down at the way the sun catches the curve of my legs, and it’s almost embarrassing how much power a single text from him has over me. God, those shorts are short…a Ducati rider wouldn't even notice such things with their helmet on; they're too busy bracing against the relentless torque. It’s pathetic, really, this yearning for connection – a distraction I don’t need.
But then again, maybe it isn't. Maybe allowing myself to feel *something*—anything—is exactly what I need to do right now. The heat of the sun on my skin feels good, and maybe, just maybe, so will a little bit of chaos.

Editor: The Ducati Ghost