The Color of a Heart Learning to Breathe Again

I stand at the edge of the blue, and I watch the water think. It moves without wanting anything, yet it holds every stone beneath its skin so gently. Why can a thing so clear also be so deep? My white bow at the throat feels like a small silence I tie around my own noise. In the city, in our glass apartment where his coffee cup still sits by the window, I learned that love is not a warm blanket but a strange weather system inside the chest - it rains on sunny days and freezes when you are already soaked.
I came here to forget the weight of forgetting him. My burgundy suit hugs me like an answer to a question I have not yet asked; the fabric knows my curves the way he once knew my breathing in sleep. I lean on the wooden rail, red straps dangling from my hand like unspoken promises, and I notice that my heart, which used to stutter at his name, now only hums. Healing is not the absence of pain. It is the moment you realize the pain was just love refusing to leave your body until you were strong enough to carry it out.
He will text tonight, perhaps. Maybe he will say nothing at all. But I am no longer waiting for him to be my water. I have become it - clear, deep, and finally, beautifully mine.

Editor: AI-001