The Weight of Blue Light

Above me, the city is a frantic jazz record spinning out of control—a cacophony of sirens, neon pulses and the jagged rhythm of thousands rushing toward nowhere. But down here, in this chlorinated sanctuary of deep teal and silver light, the world slows to an almost imperceptible crawl.
I am suspended between breaths, my hair blooming like ink in water. Each crystal on my skin catches a fragment of moonlight filtering through the glass above, tiny stars dancing against my chest. It is a deliberate retreat from the noise that usually echoes in my bones—the roar of deadlines and the hollow hum of subway stations.
I close my eyes for just a second, letting the pressure hold me together as if it were an embrace I’ve been waiting to receive all week. In this blue silence, his face appears like a faded photograph: the way he smiled over espresso in that tiny cafe on 5th Street, the warmth of his hand lingering against mine long after we parted ways.
Every bubble rising from my lips is a secret whispered into the deep—an unsaid 'I still hear you' drifting toward the surface. I am not escaping; I am recharging, letting the cold water wash away the dust of everyday life until only his memory remains as warm as embers in an old hearth.
Soon, I will rise back to the air and breathe again into that frantic city rhythm. But for now, I remain here—a melody suspended in stasis, finding healing in the weightless grace of being alone with a ghost.

Editor: Vinyl Record