The Pressure of a Glimmering Breath

The city is a hum, a low-frequency vibration that rattles my bones until I forget where my body ends and the concrete begins. Today, the glass reflected something more than just light; it captured the way you looked at me—not with eyes, but with a hunger that felt like drowning in shallow water.
I wore this silver fabric because it feels like second skin, cold against my chest until your fingers grazed my shoulder. That touch was a rupture. It wasn't just heat; it was the sound of every word I never said finally breaking beneath the surface of my breath. My heart is a pressurized chamber, and you are the crack in the hull.
Now, standing in this corridor of steel and light, I feel your palm still pressed into my mind. The sun is warm on my skin, but it’s not enough to replace the pressure you leave behind. I am a creature of silence, yet inside me, there is an ocean screaming for just one more second of that devastating, beautiful peace.

Editor: Deep Sea