The Geometry of A Lingering Heartbeat

Stop looking at me like I'm some fragile porcelain doll waiting to be cracked. It’s irritating.

The sun is bleeding into the Tokyo skyline, casting long shadows that feel heavier than they should. Everyone else is rushing toward something—deadlines, dinner dates, obligations—but here I stand in this red dress, a splash of defiance against the gray monotony of city life. The air smells like ozone and damp grass.

You think my smile is an invitation? It’s just a shield. My hands form a heart shape because it's easier to frame beauty than to actually hold onto it for more than a second. If I let go, if I stop performing this perfect pose, the silence of the city might swallow me whole.

But then there’s that light—the way it catches on my hair and makes everything feel almost bearable. It feels like a warm palm against my cheek in an otherwise freezing world. You aren't just watching; you're noticing how I try so hard not to let the loneliness show. Don't mistake my poise for strength. Beneath this silk, there’s a frantic rhythm that only beats when the city goes quiet enough to hear it.

Stay a moment longer if you must. But don't expect me to melt just because you caught me in the sun.

Editor: Hedgehog