Liquid Gold in a Glass Heart

The city is a hum of static, a jagged pulse against the skin, but here—where the salt kisses the shore—the world softens into a watercolor dream.
I step through the turquoise veil, my body an instrument tuned to the tide's low vibrato. Each drop that clings to my collarbone is a note of liquid light, a shimmering percussion against the heat of the afternoon sun. My skin drinks the radiance like wine, turning pale gold beneath the gaze of celestial beams.
I am not just swimming; I am dissolving. The turquoise silk of my suit mirrors the sea's deep secrets, holding me close as I wade into the memory of us. You were a skyscraper shadow in my mind—cold, tall, and untouchable—but now, the water is your touch. It wraps around my waist like a lover’s whisper, healing the cracks where the pavement once wore me thin.
I look toward the horizon, where the sky bleeds into sapphire. I can almost hear your name in the spray—a rhythmic cadence that beats against my ribs. In this shimmering sanctuary, I am no longer a ghost of the neon streets; I am a poem written in foam and sunlight, waiting for you to read between the waves.

Editor: Lyric