The Golden Cage of Sunset Skin

They call this 'healing,' but let's be honest: it’s just a more aesthetic way to drown in the city.

I sit on the edge of this blue void, watching the sun hemorrhage light over the skyscrapers—monolithic teeth waiting to bite into our dreams. The water is cool against my skin, yet I crave the friction of something real. My white shirt flutters like a surrender flag; it’s too soft for how sharp my thoughts have become.

He was there yesterday, or perhaps he's only here in the ghost-light of this sunset. He looked at me with that curated gaze—the kind that promises intimacy while maintaining perfect distance. We are urban predators dressed in pastel lace, hunting for a connection that won’t leave fingerprints on our reputations.

I hold up my fingers in peace, but inside, I am calculating the cost of warmth. Is it love if we only want to be seen? Or is it just a well-lit tragedy where the pool serves as both sanctuary and cage? The sun dips lower, burning away the pretense. Tomorrow, I will put on real clothes again and pretend that this heat wasn't my religion.

Editor: Cinderella’s Coach