Black Crème Extrait Extrême

Re-reading an old love letter, hands steady, breath not so much, under the soft flicker of a dying candle. The letter has been folded too many times—its paper soft now, edges curled, stained with black where tears once met ink.

The room is thick with warmth, like skin, melted wax, and a creamy sweetness that clings to the air. The words are fading, but the feeling hasn’t.