The Weight of Your Silence

The neon sign outside my window hums like an old man’s cough, a constant companion in the city’s restless sleep. I lean against the damp brick wall of the alleyway, feeling every bit of the day’s weight on my shoulders. My fingers are cold, tracing the seams of my skirt as if searching for something solid in this fluid world that keeps moving too fast for me to catch up.
Then there was you. You didn't walk up with a rehearsed line or a bright smile that feels like it belongs to someone else. You just sat on the curb beside me, your presence a steady anchor in the tide of traffic and noise. We didn’t speak for ten minutes, but I heard everything we were saying in the way you let out a long breath, matching mine as the steam rose from a nearby grate.
In this concrete labyrinth, where people are just faces passing through glass windows, you gave me something more valuable than conversation: you gave me time. You let me exist without having to be anything for anyone else but myself. The city still feels heavy, and my shoes are still wet, but tonight the air tastes a little sweeter because I know that somewhere between the streetlights and the shadows, someone actually saw me.

Editor: Alleyway Friend