He’s coming. She smiles at the mirror, brushing light onto her cheeks.
Another night feels like hers, a moment she’s looking forward to.

Laughter fills the space between shared bites and stories.
The conversation flows, like jewelry’s natural cling, like wine in a golden glass.

Movies, of course. Her shoulder brushes his, his chuckle answers hers. The world narrows to comfort, nothing more, nothing less.

His shirt, her rings—they share taste like their laughter. Yet both hold their separate colors. Their days align, yet each remains their own.
Because she knows: the joy she feels is hers to keep, with or without him.

The night falls silent as she slips into the sanctuary of her room.
She’s thankful for him, for softening the days, but a relationship remains no answer.
She drifts into sleep, embracing her solitude—her first, truest love.