the city of firsts

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it was the hour when the sun

spilled its pockets of gold between the buildings,

when the streets hummed like they’d been keeping a secret

just for me.

i wasn’t looking for you,

i was busy being my own hand to hold.

and yet there you were —

broad-shouldered calm,

coat cut like it had known your name for years,

eyes that didn’t skip across the room

but found me.

you didn’t rush.

no firework-flash

or neon flare.

just a steady gravity

pulling the air between us taut.

we spoke like old letters do —

soft beginnings,

curious ends.

your voice was a stone in a warm river,

and i, without meaning to,

was leaning in.

somewhere between your first question

and my second laugh,

i knew —

this wasn’t the city’s only magic,

but it was mine.

and when i left,

the light still caught on my skin,

and i thought:

some things arrive

not to save you,

but to stand beside you

while you shine.