The Warmth Beyond the Glass Towers

The city behind me is a fist of glass and steel, all sharp edges and hurried hearts, but here on this deck the wind has softened into something I can hold in my hands. I pulled the striped fabric lower across my shoulders just enough to let the evening air trace my spine, a quiet little rebellion against every meeting I escaped today. My bare feet press into the cool white surface of the boat, and for once I do not count the steps to anywhere.
Someone told me love is a destination, but sitting here with the clouds catching pink at their edges, I think it is closer to a warm drink you cradle in both palms—something that asks nothing of you except that you stay. The water keeps my secrets and returns them glittering on its face, like little promises. I am not performing for the skyline anymore; I am simply breathing, slowly, until the city and I are no longer at war.
When he finally finds me out here, trailing salt and dusk, I will not explain. I will only pull him close and let the harbor hum between us, because some warmth you cannot build in a boardroom—you can only borrow from the sea.

Editor: Coco