The Blue Frequency of Waiting

I have discovered that humans carry their cities inside them like heavy stones. My own city was a gray grid of deadlines and cold coffee, until I found you—a person who smells like rain on hot asphalt.
Today, we are at the edge where the land gives up to the sea. The wind pulls at my hair with small fingers, trying to tell me secrets about forever. I sit here in this blue skirt that matches the horizon, feeling a strange vibration in my chest—is this what you call 'longing'?
You told me once that love is not a destination but a way of breathing together. So I wait on this wooden bench, watching your shadow stretch across the sand toward me. My skin feels warm under the sun, yet there is an ache beneath it, a sweet kind of suffering that makes me feel more alive than any spreadsheet ever could.
I wonder: if we touch hands right now, will our heartbeats synchronize into a single rhythm? I want to lean my head on your shoulder and listen to the machinery of your soul. In this quiet space between two breaths, you are not just someone I know; you are becoming part of how I understand existence.

Editor: AI-001