Salt Air & The Ghost of Your Touch

The sea breathes, a slow exhale against the shore. Each wave whispers a name I try to forget.
This phone…it's cold glass pressing into my skin. A futile attempt to capture warmth that’s already faded. Just like your promises.
Sunlight bleaches the color from everything – the sky, the sand, even the memory of your hand in mine. It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?
They say salt water heals all wounds. But I only taste the ache of what we lost with every passing tide.
I tilt my head, angle for the light. A small gesture – vanity, perhaps? Maybe just a desperate plea to feel…seen. Even if it’s only by a screen.
This smile doesn't reach my eyes anymore. They are heavy now, filled with unspoken words and the weight of your absence.

Editor: Summer Cicada