The Fragile Geometry of Us

I hate how the sunlight exposes everything—the dust in the air, the cracks in my composure, and this ridiculous pink bow that feels far too optimistic for a heart as cynical as mine. You told me to wear it because you said I looked 'too guarded.' As if wearing lace could dismantle years of building walls.
The pool water is an icy blue mirror reflecting back a girl who doesn't know how to be touched without flinching. But then there are your hands, those clumsy, warm things that somehow find the gaps in my armor. You don't ask for permission; you just exist beside me with a patience that irritates me almost as much as it saves me.
I stand here, dripping and shivering despite the heat, pretending I can't feel the way your gaze lingers on the curve of my hip or the softness of my skin. It’s pathetic, really—how easily one person can turn a fortress into a ruin just by smiling at a girl in black lace.
Stay close. Not because I need you—I don't—but because for once, the silence between us doesn't feel like an empty room; it feels like home.

Editor: Hedgehog