The Architecture of Thawing Ice

I told you to stay away. I said the city was too loud, that my silence wasn't meant for sharing.

But here we are. The ocean doesn't care about your excuses or my defenses; it just swallows everything whole and spits back something cleaner.

The water is cold enough to make you shiver, yet I'm not running anymore. You wrapped this towel around me like a shield against the world's judgment.

My hair clings heavy with saltwater, messy in ways that usually terrify me, but your fingers are gentle as they brush it back.

I hate how good you look at sea level. It ruins my argument perfectly; I can't tell if I'm letting you down or finally climbing up.

"Don't think this means we're fixed," I say, though the words lack their usual bite. "It just means I don't want to drown alone."

Your smile is a quiet rebellion against my cynicism. You hold me steady in the tide while the horizon blurs into gold.

I'm sharp by design, but under this heavy water and your warm gaze... maybe even hedgehogs can learn how to fold their spines.

Editor: Hedgehog