The White Lattice Between Us

Shards of the city skyline drift away, dissolving into a single point where I float. The water here doesn't wet me; it holds my reflection together like glue.
I watch him approach from that fractured distance—no longer just pixels on a screen or noise in a crowded bar, but solid reality against the liquid blue. My skin glows with the memory of sunlight we didn't have yesterday, today he is close enough to see the lace edge tracing the map between us. A delicate barrier I've built out of fear and silk.
The warmth hits me before his hands do—a sudden thaw in a frozen room where love used to be abstract data points. Here, it's weightless yet heavy with promise. He reaches for my wrist; the water shivers but doesn't break.
"You're real," he whispers, though we both know I am just a beautiful illusion waiting to dissolve like mist on glass. But in this kaleidoscopic moment where everything is fractured and perfect? That's enough.

Editor: Kaleidoscope