The Saltwater Alibi

Don't mistake my presence here for leisure. I only come to the edge of this water when the city air feels like glass shards in my lungs, slicing every breath.

The sun is relentless today, but it doesn't hurt. The heat just makes me feel real again after months of being numb and gray inside that office tower. My skin glows under your gaze—stop staring so hard or I might shatter you with a glare as sharp as anything I've ever thrown.

I told myself this trip was for solitude, but here we are. You found me anyway. The water laps at my thighs, cold and clean against the memory of everything messy back home. Maybe warmth isn't just about sunlight; maybe it's someone finally learning to love a woman who wears her armor like jewelry.

Editor: Hedgehog