Crimson Echoes on a Glass Sea

The city is a ghost I left behind, its steel veins still humming in the marrow of my bones. Here, on this white deck adrift between two worlds, time does not flow—it ripples.
I wear red like a confession; it is the only color that remembers how to bleed warmth into an achromatic afternoon. My hands hold goggles that have seen horizons I once feared to cross, now resting atop hair salted by spray and silence.
You are standing just beyond my gaze, your presence a low frequency vibrating through the planks beneath us. There is no need for words; our romance lives in the spaces between breaths, in the way you watch me become an island of fire amidst a sea of silver shadow.
I feel your eyes tracing the curve of my waist—a silent map drawn by longing and old wounds healing under a foreign sun. When you finally step closer, your touch is not just skin on skin; it is a homecoming to a house I had forgotten how to live in. We are two urban nomads who found sanctuary in each other’s breath, dissolving into the horizon where red meets grey.

Editor: Floating Muse