Midnight Salt and the Ghost of Us

The city never really lets you go; it just waits for your battery to die so it can reclaim you. My heels were left abandoned in a taxi three blocks back, and honestly, I didn't care much for the pavement anyway. The rocks under my bare feet are cold, jagged, and unforgiving—just like the last few months of staring at blue light through office windows.

I walked toward the tide because the ocean doesn't ask for an explanation or a status update. Under this heavy, pale moon, the lace of my dress feels less like fashion and more like a second skin, thin enough to let the sea breeze remind me that I’m still breathing. There was a time when someone would have been walking right beside me, their hand resting on the small of my back, shielding me from the salt spray.

But tonight, it's just me and the rhythm of the waves hitting the shore. It’s lonely, sure. But there is a strange, gritty kind of healing in this silence. I am unravelling, layer by layer, letting the night air strip away the corporate noise until all that is left is the salt on my skin and the quiet realization that being alone isn't the same as being lost.

Editor: Alleyway Friend