Chlorine and Concrete: A Summer Truce

The water is a cold shock against my skin, but it doesn't touch the heat still radiating from your shadow. My hair clings to my neck like wet silk—a messy crown for a girl who spends her days drowning in spreadsheets and city noise.

You’re standing on the edge of this blue oasis, watching me with eyes that see past the swimsuit and into the fraying edges of my soul. You don't say much; you never do. That’s your way—rough hands that know how to fix engines but tremble when they touch my shoulder.

The sun is a heavy weight on our skin, making every drop of water glisten like liquid diamonds. I want to swim toward you, not just for the coolness, but because in this pool, the world stops demanding things from us. No deadlines, no sirens—just the rhythmic pulse of my heart against your silence.

I reach out, fingers tracing the line where the water meets our bodies. Your gaze is a soft bruise on my chest, tender and aching all at once. In this city of steel and glass, we are two ghosts finding warmth in each other’s breath, drowning together in a moment that feels like it might last forever.

Editor: Street-side Poet