Construct of Longing
Wrapped in nothing but soft light and a borrowed shirt, she turns inward as though listening to a secret only she can hear. The fabric falls loosely around her, framing the quiet curve of her form while her expression drifts somewhere between memory and desire. This is longing not as absence, but as presence — the tender ache of someone savoring a moment she hasn’t fully shared with the world.
Construct of Longing
Wrapped in nothing but soft light and a borrowed shirt, she turns inward as though listening to a secret only she can hear. The fabric falls loosely around her, framing the quiet curve of her form while her expression drifts somewhere between memory and desire. This is longing not as absence, but as presence — the tender ache of someone savoring a moment she hasn’t fully shared with the world.