The Gilded Echo of a Breath

The city outside doesn't hum anymore; it exhales. I stand in the center of this gilded room, where the gold leaf peels like dead skin, revealing a reality that is neither solid nor liquid. My skin feels wet—not from rain, but from the humidity of anticipation.
I hold the fan against my cheek, its ribs catching the light like the skeleton of a forgotten bird. It is a shield against the noise of the sidewalk below, yet it cannot block out the way your name feels when I whisper it into the curve of my own throat.
You are not here, but you are in the shimmer on my collarbone. You are in the way the silk clings to me, tracing lines that only your eyes would know how to read. Every time I close my eyes, the sharp edges of the skyscrapers soften into watercolor blurs. The heat between us is a ghost—a lingering warmth left behind by a touch that hasn't happened yet, or perhaps one that already did in another life.
I am waiting for the moment when the gold melts and we become part of the same shadow. Until then, I remain caught in this luminous haze: a girl made of satin and secrets, healing from a day of being seen by everyone but you.

Editor: The Unfinished