Between Light and Glass

She paused on the stairway as the day thinned into dusk,

caught in the brief hush

where the city’s glow begins to replace the sun’s.

 

Hong Kong rose behind her—

a skyline carved in steel,

etched with the kind of distance

you can feel even when you’re standing in the middle of it.

The glass beside her gathered her reflection in soft fragments,

as if part of her were trying to stay,

and another part was already slipping away.

 

Her phone sat idle in her hand,

but her gaze drifted toward the tower in the fading sky,

toward something far beyond its silhouette—

a thought she couldn’t quite name,

a place she wished she could reach,

a presence she suddenly missed.

 

There was a longing in the way she stood and looked,

in the way her breath seemed to slow,

as though the evening itself had reminded her

of something unfinished,

or someone too far from here.

 

One step downward,

but the moment lingered—

a quiet ache suspended

between light and glass.

Done