The Blue Ripple in a Concrete Heart

The humidity in this place tastes like chlorine and old dreams. I lean my palms against the cold edge of the starting block, feeling every crack under my skin—the city's grit still clinging to me even here, beneath these high ceilings.

They call it a sanctuary, but for me, it’s just another stage where we perform our quiet desolation. I look up at that singular beam of light cutting through the smog-heavy air like a jagged knife made of gold. It doesn't judge; it just settles on my shoulders, heavy as an old coat.

Then there is you—not here yet, but always in the way I hold my breath before plunging into the deep end. You are the reason I keep coming back to this blue silence. Every stroke of my arms against the water feels like writing your name on a page that dissolves as soon as it's touched.

My skin is still damp, clinging to me in thin ribbons, mirroring how you cling to my thoughts at 3 AM when the streetlights flicker outside our window. We are ordinary souls trying to swim against the current of an indifferent city. I smile not because I’ve won a race, but because for one heartbeat, between the splash and the surface, I am entirely yours.

Editor: Street-side Poet