I don’t melt into his arms because I don’t melt anymore.
They’d rather I was Ariel on a beach, dissolving into foam, (re)minded into nothingness, into waves, into my own tears, voiceless.
But I found a merman with a shark grin,
hands like anchors,
and conversations like journeys
winding through ocean currents
and eyes, deep,
as deep as the ocean,
as deep as my own
and a jawline so fine
only meant for mermaid lips
I told him one day that after studying the deep sea creatures,
the squids and the anglerfish
the way they moved, shed light in the darkest parts of
that I had become quite adept
at becoming invisible, reading minds, and telling the future.
“I’m a witch”, I said, quite seriously. “I didn’t think any of us existed down here; they never talk about us without legs, but there you have it. A mermaid witch.”
“Haha, I love you” he said, and I saw the stream of water from his words,
rush past me, breaking into nothing as they wove through my hair.
It’s an intimate feeling,
to be touched by nothing.
A strange unease, a curious sensation;
vacuums under water are rare,
but I remember trying to breathe and being unable to
all those times I ventured towards the shore.
When he blinked, I
folded myself into the darkness inches from him; he
turned, swirling through the currents, searching, just to be sure,
and I watched, just to be sure
and I saw his smile fade