Some nights, the air feels like it’s holding its breath.
Miami was like that for me, not the beaches, not the neon. The silence in the space between what happened and what I can tell you… just yet.
I’ve been asked why I went. I could say it was for work. I could say it was for adventure. Both would be true, but not the truth.
The truth is still in my pocket, warming against my skin,
an ember I’m not ready to drop into your hand. Not yet.
You see, the city has a way of rearranging your edges without asking permission.
One night can blur the lines between desire and danger, between I know better and just this once.
Miami did that to me. And I let it.
On August 18, the first piece falls into place. Not the whole picture — not yet — but enough to make you feel the heat I still carry.
Until then, I’ll leave you with this: sometimes, the most dangerous thing you can do is keep listening.
