The Buoyancy of Being Seen

The salt-spray is a whisper against my skin, a soft rebellion against the heavy pulse of the city I left behind. Here, on this floating sanctuary, time doesn't tick; it drifts like sea foam. When his gaze meets mine, it is as if my chest fills with hot air—not breath, but light itself. I feel my heels lift from the deck, my body unmooring from its earthly cage.
He reaches out, and his touch is a gentle updraft, lifting the ache of yesterday into a shimmering haze. We are suspended in amber, caught between the deep blue of the ocean and the infinite white of the sun. There is no weight here, only the buoyancy of being seen. I am not falling; I am rising into him, a slow ascension where every breath is an escape from the earth’s pull. In this stolen moment, we are two souls defying gravity, floating toward a horizon that never ends.

Editor: Gravity Rebel