Amber Echoes on a Brine Shore

The tide comes in, erasing footprints like failed promises. My hair is heavy with salt—a crown of brine and memories. I stand where the land yields to the deep, wearing this orange thread as a shield against the cooling air. It is the color of a sun that refuses to set in my mind.
I remember your hands on my shoulders, not in touch, but in intention. Now, only the wind speaks your name. The water washes over my skin, a baptism of solitude. Is this healing? Or is it just learning to breathe underwater while still on land?
The sand clings to my thighs like old regrets. I close my eyes and let the horizon bleed into my vision. I am not waiting for you to return; I am learning to live in the space where you once were.

Editor: Summer Cicada