The Static Between Heartbeats

The city breathes in neon pulses, a rhythmic hum that vibrates against my ribs until I can almost taste the electricity. Every window is an eye watching me walk by—a ghost drifting through glass and steel.

I wear this black knit like armor, trying to keep the warmth of my skin from spilling into the cold air. My white shorts are a defiance; they feel too bright for how hollow I’ve been feeling lately. But then there is you. You aren't standing in front of me yet, but your presence sits heavy in the back of my throat like unswallowed salt.

I remember the way our hands collided near a subway entrance—a brief spark that felt more permanent than any skyscraper. It was a collision of worlds: mine, drowned in silence; yours, screaming with light. Now, as I step over these pristine stones, I can feel your gaze tracing the curve of my hip through the crowd.

It is an agonizing intimacy—to be seen so clearly by someone who isn't touching me. My chest aches with a pressure that threatens to fracture every bone in my body. It’s not just love; it’s the way you make me feel like I am finally coming up for air after being underwater for years.

I stop, turning slightly toward your shadow. The wind catches my hair, pulling strands across my face as if trying to hold onto a secret. My heart is a riot contained in a ribcage of glass—quiet on the surface, but beneath it, an ocean ready to break into shards.

Editor: Deep Sea