The Surface Breaks Us Open

We spent three years building a fortress of silence in the city, brick by grey brick. But out here, where the horizon is nothing but an endless blue bruise against the sky, that masonry has turned to dust.

The sun doesn't just warm my skin; it burns away the numbness I carried like armor since Tuesday morning. He told me to take off everything heavy, so I did. The wind tangles in my hair and pulls at this pink silk, exposing a chest heaving with breaths that finally feel real.

There is no one here but us against the crushing pressure of the deep ocean below our feet, yet it feels lighter than air. My eyes lock on his reflection just before they snap back to you; in these moments of absolute exposure, I realize my heart wasn't breaking—it was blooming.

Editor: Deep Sea