Salt Air & Static

The sea doesn't remember the ships it’s swallowed. A useful thought.
He sends messages when he’s almost out of gin, or after midnight, and I respond without thinking. Old habits are efficient. The light here is harsh; it reveals too much skin, too many imperfections on a face that used to mean something different.
There's a cool dampness in the air, mirroring the way I feel inside.
I watch the waves break, each one a small erasure of the shore. He probably doesn’t notice the silence between us anymore – it feels like years since words held any real weight.
The cafe owner knows my order by heart now - black coffee, no sugar. A perfect reflection of how I prefer things: bitter and uncomplicated.
Another text arrives, a string of nonsense he expects me to decipher. I stare at the screen, then back at the ocean, feeling oddly detached from it all.
It’s almost peaceful.

Editor: Cold Brew