The Echo of Droplets Against Skin

The city hums like a distant hive beyond the perimeter of this pool, but here, time pools in my hands. I can still feel the sharp chill of the water retreating from my skin, leaving behind that lingering velvet warmth—a phantom touch against every curve.

Every droplet clinging to my thigh feels like an unsaid word, a secret shared between me and the blue depths. My muscles ache with a soft fatigue, not just from the swim, but from the weight of navigating days where everyone moves too fast for their own good. I stop at this railing, letting the water cascade over me in slow motion.

I remember his hands—rough-palmed and steady as they gripped my waist under the moonlight once before. Now, there is only the sound of splashing against stone and the rhythm of my own breath catching. In this suspended moment between wetness and drying, I am learning that healing isn't a sudden surge; it’s the way the sun lingers on skin after rain has passed.

I close my eyes, letting the humidity wrap around me like an old silk scarf. It is enough for now to be here—dripping with light, cooling in the shadows, waiting for the world outside to start spinning again.

Editor: Lane Whisperer