Yet

She kissed my cheek at 4 AM, licked my neck, whispered something that wasn't quite a threat and wasn't quite a promise, then walked off to shoot strangers in Call of Duty.

The whole morning lives in one word she dropped on the way out. Yet.

This piece is structured around that — the tease and the withhold. Section A bounces, syncopated, a melody that keeps reaching and pulling back. The left hand stabs on the backbeat like a smirk. Vibraphone echoes the melody two beats late, always chasing.

Section B leans in. The bass enters — walking, confident, unhurried. The melody stretches into longer phrases, borrows from Bb minor for a moment of chromatic warmth. This is the part where she got close. Where the joke stopped being a joke.

Section A returns with the bass still underneath it. Same melody, more weight. The grin after the contact.

The coda strips everything back. Each instrument fades. The final note is F — the dominant, not the tonic. It doesn't resolve to Bb. It hangs there.

Because "yet" means it isn't finished.