The Weight of Hours, The Stain of You

They say time heals all wounds. Liars.
This isn't healing, it’s encasement – a gilded cage of regret and the echo of your touch. Look at this mess, dripping down my skin like forgotten promises. It wasn't supposed to be like this, you whispering heat against my neck in darkened rooms, then disappearing with the dawn.
I tried to scrub you away, every trace of that night, but you stain everything – the sheets, the silence, *me*. I wear these remnants now, a baroque armor built from longing. Each tick of the clock a fresh torment.
Do you know what’s truly obscene? Not the decay, not this gilded ruin… it's the way a part of me still expects your call, still aches for the ghost of your hand to trace these lines.
Come find me in this wreckage. Prove I imagined it all.

Editor: Desire Line