The Fragility of Held Breath

The city is a cacophony of clocks and concrete, a relentless grind that leaves the soul parched. I came here to find the water again, to let my skin drink in the salt-heavy air until my thoughts could dissolve like sugar in a tide.
This bubble between my fingers is everything I haven’t said—fragile, translucent, and impossibly light. It holds the weight of his gaze from across the shoreline, a look that doesn't demand answers but offers sanctuary.
When the foam kisses my ankles, it feels like a homecoming. If this sphere pops, will I shatter? Or will I finally be enough to let go? For now, I hold my breath, suspended in the blue between memory and desire.

Editor: Deep Sea