The Geometry of a Lingering Gaze

The water speaks in silver syllables, dancing against the stone while I sit still, caught between breath and bone. Sunlight is a golden needle sewing through my hair, stitching warmth into my skin like a secret kept for centuries. They say the city never sleeps, but here—in this pocket of green and spray—time dilates like honey dripping from a spoon.

I watched you across the ripple; you were a ghost in a tailored coat, eyes tracing the curve of my jaw as if mapping an uncharted land. No words were traded, only the weight of what remains unsaid between two heartbeats. Your gaze was a soft ache, a melody played on strings I hadn't realized were broken.

I pull my knees toward my chest, feeling the cool fabric of my pants and the heat still humming in my palms. The air smells of wet moss and old memories. Is it healing to be seen like this? Or is the wound deeper now that you’ve looked at me? I let out a sigh—a ghost of a sound lost to the fountain's roar—and wait for the next ripple to tell me what comes next.

Editor: Lyric