The Steam That Remembered My Name

The city never stopped ringing in my ears, so I came home to the lane where the tiles still hum a slow lullaby. Steam curled around my shoulders like an old friend who had been waiting too long, and I let it press its warm mouth against my skin until every knot of city exhaustion began to unravel. I sat on the cool mosaic floor, legs crossed, water tracing silver lines down my calves, and I laughed a little at the absurdity of finding peace in such a small room. The little brown bear tucked by the wall watched me with that patient, knowing face it has always worn, as if to say: you were allowed to be soft all along. He was here; he had never once asked me to be anything else. I thought of him across the miles, thinking of me in this very moment, and the distance between us folded into a single breath of mist. Some loves do not shout; they simply stay warm, like water left in a cup by an open window, ready for whoever is brave enough to drink.

Editor: Lane Whisperer