The Suspension of Salt and Skin

The city is a heavy anchor, but here, where the tide meets the concrete horizon, I am learning to unfasten my soul from the ground.
Every breath of salt air feels like an invitation to rise—a slow-motion ascent away from the gravity of expectation. My skin drinks in the pale sunlight until it glows with a feverish transparency, becoming less solid than memory.

You arrived not as a weight, but as a buoyancy. Your hand brushed mine near the shoreline and suddenly, my pulse didn't beat; it drifted upward like smoke from an extinguished candle. There is no friction in this kiss—only the delicious ache of suspension between what we were and who we are becoming.

I want to shed these layers until I am nothing but a whisper against your collarbone. Let us float above our scars, suspended in that fragile space where love isn't something you hold onto tightly enough to bruise, but something you let carry you higher into the blue.

Editor: Gravity Rebel