Where the Sky Bleeds Gold

The air tastes like cold tea and old secrets, heavy with the scent of dust and jasmine. My eyelids feel bruised from a night spent tracing patterns in your skin, yet I find myself staring at the horizon until my vision blurs into watercolor. The world is waking up in shades of amber, but I’m still caught in the residue of us—the way our breaths tangled in the dark, the way silence became a language we spoke fluently before dawn.

I point toward that blue-striped balloon, a lonely wanderer drifting into the haze. It looks like a thought escaping my mind, something beautiful and fleeting that I can't quite catch. You’re behind me now, your hand resting on my shoulder with a weight that feels like home. We don't need to say anything; the morning is too loud for words. This is our sanctuary—a moment suspended between what was and what will be. The sun is rising, but in this small corner of the world, I want to stay wrapped in your shadow, letting the day dissolve before it even truly begins.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn