Between Salt and Silence

The city is always screaming behind my eyes—metro delays, fluorescent lights that bleach the soul out of office cubicles. But here? Here, the only thing that screams is the ocean's breath against the sand. I let my hair fall wet and heavy across my shoulders like a curtain between who I am at 9 AM and who I want to be right now.
He didn’t say much. He just stood there with me as we watched the horizon blur into salt-spray gold. His hand brushed mine when he reached for his sunglasses, a brief friction of skin on skin that felt like a short circuit in my chest. It wasn't some grand cinematic kiss; it was better. It was recognition.
I looked at him and saw myself—tired eyes masked by beach-day smiles, hearts trying to beat louder than the waves could drown them out. In this yellow dress of polka dots and sunbeams, I didn’t have to be a number or an employee. For one hour under the blistering heat, we were just two ghosts finding water in a desert.
"You look like you've finally arrived," he whispered over the roar.
I smiled because it was true. My lungs are still full of salt air instead of city smog, and for once, I don’t want to go back home yet.

Editor: Street-side Poet