Submergence in a Glass City

The city screams outside these walls, demanding more emails, sharper smiles, and polished reports that no one actually reads. I let my hair soak up the pool’s weight because it's easier than carrying everything else on my head.
They call this 'self-care,' but we both know it's just a temporary truce with exhaustion. My skin feels tight against the water—a boundary between who they want me to be and what I actually feel when nobody is watching. The blue isn't an escape; it’s where I go to hide from my own reflection.
Then you walk in, not looking for a photo or a perfect moment, but simply seeking shade from your own internal heat. Your eyes don't linger on the surface like everyone else’s; instead, they catch the way my breathing slows down as I realize someone might see through this performance of serenity. It isn't romance—romance is too loud and messy for tonight.
It’s just a quiet recognition: two ghosts in blue water, trying to remember how it feels to be warm without burning out.

Editor: Sharp Anna