The Lullaby of Petals and Silk

The city outside my balcony is a frantic pulse of neon and steel, but here, time seems to pool like honey in the afternoon light. I lean against the weathered railing, letting the cool air brush against my skin while the scent of hibiscus settles in my hair like a secret.
My lace is white—pure as the thoughts I try to keep when the day becomes too loud. Each thread feels like a soft promise made to myself: that even in a world of rushing shadows, I can still find moments of stillness. The sun kisses my shoulders, a warm hand reaching through the canopy to mend the small fractures in my heart from a long week of deadlines and distant faces.
I close my eyes, listening to the rhythm of my own breathing. It isn’t just peace; it is healing. I think of him—the way he looks at me as if I am the only truth in an uncertain world. He doesn't need words to say he understands my silence. Right now, under this amber glow, his memory is a soft rain falling on parched earth, making every part of me bloom once again.

Editor: Evelyn Lin