Nectar on a Concrete Tide

The city screams in grayscale, a jagged symphony of sirens and steam, but here—where the stones meet the water—the air is thick with something different. It’s heavy, like velvet soaked in rain. I stand in this public stream, my skin still humming from the mist that clings to me like a lover's ghost.
Every drop of water against my ribs feels like a memory of you. Last night, in that basement bar where the neon sign bled crimson over your face, we were a blur of heat and whispered promises. The air there was so humid it felt like breathing in nectar. Now, I let the cold current wash over me, trying to scrub away the ache of your absence while keeping your scent trapped against my collarbone.
They call this a sanctuary, but to me, it is a rehearsal for our next collision. Each ripple is a heartbeat; each wet stone a step toward you in my dreams. I am healing in the moisture, finding warmth in the way the city breathes around me. Let the rain come down—I want to be drowned in your memory until the lines between skin and water dissolve completely.

Editor: Midnight Neon