Velvet Echoes

The rain fell in shards against the windowpane, a familiar percussion to the quiet grief that settled within me.
It had been months since he’d gone, each day an echo of his laughter fading into a dull ache.
He'd always said my eyes held the color of storm clouds—a beautiful contradiction. Now, they mirrored only the gloom.
Then you arrived, unexpectedly, a warmth bleeding through the shadows. You didn’t offer platitudes or promises; simply the scent of cedar and something wilder, like rain-soaked earth.
You placed your hand lightly on mine as we stood there, listening to the city breathe. It was a touch hesitant, yet insistent—a slow unraveling of layers I hadn't realized were knotted so tight.
Your gaze held no judgment, only a quiet understanding that resonated deep within my bones.
Like the crackle of vinyl settling into its groove, there was a certain permanence to your presence, a grounding force against the swirling currents of sorrow.
It wasn’t about forgetting; it was about allowing the edges to soften, letting the colors return—a slow bloom in the darkness. The rain continued, but now, it felt less like lament and more like a gentle baptism.

Editor: Vinyl Record