i get disappointed when i dont see you

She's draped across the edge of the bed in pale silk that barely qualifies as coverage, one strap sliding off her shoulder like it gave up trying.

The way she's looking directly into the lens carries actual weight — not performance, not a pose rehearsed in a mirror, but something closer to quiet accusation. You weren't here, and she noticed.

The lingerie is almost secondary to the stillness she's holding, that particular tension of someone who waited and kept the light on anyway, warmth still readable in every deliberate line of her body.