A Sip of Liquid Night

The water is a cool secret against my ribs, but my mind is still burning with the ghost of your touch.
I let the droplets slide down like tiny glass beads, each one carrying a piece of the city’s frantic rhythm into the depths. They call this sanctuary—a pool of blue shadows where time stretches and sighs until it becomes almost liquid.
But in the silence, I hear you. Not with my ears, but in the way my pulse skips when the moon catches a ripple on my collarbone. You were the warmth that broke through my winter-cold routine, a sudden sunbeam in a room of grey walls, and now I am trying to bottle that feeling in this pool.
I linger here, half-submerged in memory, letting the water wash away the noise until only your name remains—a soft vibration under my skin like a cat’s purr against a sleeping heart.

Editor: Cat-like Muse