The Rhythm of Falling Water

I let the water fall over me, a cold thread against my skin that feels like home.
Above us, the city breathes in glass and steel—fast, loud, indifferent. But here, between the blue of the pool and your quiet gaze across the deck, time has stopped moving.
You didn't say anything when I stepped into the light; you only smiled a small smile that told me everything was okay now.
The water drips from my hair onto my shoulders, tracing paths down my skin like invisible letters written in silence. I can feel your heart beating through the distance between us—a soft rhythm that matches mine.
I am not just wet; I am awake. In this stillness, we are no longer two people lost in a crowd of millions. We are simply here: you and me, under a single stream of water.

Editor: Pure Linen