The Rhythm of Stillness

The city hums beyond the garden wall, a distant vibration of glass and ambition. Here, under the heavy fronds of palms, I am finally still.
My skin holds the memory of water, cool and slick against the humidity of the night. Then you arrive. Not with words, but with your presence—a weight in the air that feels like home.
You don't say anything. You just stand near me, close enough for our breaths to mingle. Your hand finds mine, fingers interlacing with a gentle pressure. In this shared silence, the noise of the world fades into nothingness. All that remains is the steady thrum of two hearts finding their common beat in the dark.

Editor: Pure Linen