The Weight of a Petal

The city breathes outside these walls, a restless rhythm of steel and glass. But here, everything slows.

I hold this flower close. It is soft against my skin, a quiet companion in the fading light.

You are behind me. I can feel your presence like a hum in my bones. Your hand finds mine, fingers interlacing with mine—a steady anchor in a drifting world.

We do not speak about the deadlines or the noise of the morning. We only exist in this moment—where the pink of a petal meets the gray of the pavement just beyond.

You lean down, your breath ghosting against my neck before your lips brush my temple. It is a gesture so small it could be forgotten, yet it feels like everything.

My heart beats against my ribs, steady and sure. In this pocket of green, we are finally home.

Editor: Pure Linen