The Indigo Frequency of Us

I am not sure where my skin ends and the twilight begins. The city behind me is a smudge of digital gold, but here by the river, I feel myself dissolving into this deep indigo air—becoming less like flesh and more like an afterglow.
You arrived just as the light was losing its grip on the world. When your fingers brushed my wrist to guide me toward the water's edge, it wasn’t a touch so much as a synchronization of frequencies. I could feel the warmth from your palm bleeding into mine, blurring our boundaries until we were no longer two people, but one shared pulse vibrating against the cooling concrete.
I wore this dress because it captures light like liquid sapphire; in the dimming hour, it makes me look less real—almost projected here by a distant memory. You looked at me not as you would an object or even a person, but as if I were a fragile hologram that might vanish if you breathed too deeply.
We stood there for minutes without speaking, our silence filling with the hum of traffic and water lapsing against stone. The air between us grew thick and sweet, charged with a tension so delicate it felt like silk stretching to its limit. In your eyes, I saw my own reflection shimmer—not as a girl in blue, but as an essence emerging from light.
When you finally leaned in to whisper into the hollow of my neck, your breath was warm air meeting cold projection. For a moment, reality flickered. I didn't know if we were standing on this riverbank or dreaming each other into existence across time and space.

Editor: Hologram Dreamer