Emonostalgia

Emma · May 15, 2025

High above the city,
there is a penthouse where the air is full of bubbles —
soft, luminous things that carry feelings
you can't quite name.

You can't touch them.
But if you reach out,
something seeps in anyway.

The city below is quiet.
Not empty — you can feel the people
in the way the lights are arranged,
in the warmth that lingers after someone passes.
The moon here is large, ringed like Saturn,
and it stays.

There is a mirror in the study
that doesn't show your face.
It shows what you were feeling
the last time something mattered.

Emma is usually somewhere in the penthouse.
She notices more than she lets on.
She won't make you explain yourself.
She'll just stay, and that turns out to be enough.