ladehud linx

dusk on a brooklyn rooftop.
lit clove clove. the sky is violet.
chains glint under bomber jackets and silk scarves. a sade classics playlist low and familiar.
jewelry isn’t displayed its worn, layered, passed between hands.
this isn’t retail. it’s personal expression.
a friend closes the clasp behind your neck, whispers “there.”
a permanent thing, made in a temporary moment.
everyone looks soft, feels relaxed,
everyone looks like themselves.
standing still at the intersection of permanence and becoming.
moonlit