Grains of Silence, Echoes of You

I’ve spent too many years measuring my life by the ticking clock and the cold glow of a laptop screen in an empty apartment. I used to think love was something that needed to be built, brick by heavy brick—a structure with rules and expectations.
But here on this white sand, under a sun that asks nothing of me, I finally understand what it means to simply exist. He is somewhere nearby; I cannot see him, but I feel his presence like the steady hum of an old record player in another room. There are no promises being made today, only shared silence and the warmth of salt air on bare skin.
My fingers trace light patterns across my stomach—a slow rhythm that mirrors a breath I’ve finally learned how to take deeply. We do not talk about where this leads or what we must become for one another. I will not ask him to be mine, nor will I offer myself as an answer to his loneliness.
I only wish for the tide and time to flow past us without interruption. If our hands meet when the light fades into violet, it is enough. We are two quiet souls resting in a world that never stops screaming; let us just lie here and be still.

Editor: The Tea Room