Unspoken Anticipation

The day hasn’t quite left you, yet the evening begins. A glass in hand. Clean. Citrus. Alive. A quiet hum of laughter. Sun-warmed softness that lingers. A hint of red that feels within reach. Floral, vivid, impossible to ignore. It moves through the air, touching everything lightly. A sweetness that is both familiar and distant. Never overwhelming. You’re not rushing forward, nor looking back. Just on the edge of what’s next.

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