Salt & Silk

The grey whispers of the sea tasted of something familiar, like old secrets and damp wool.
They always did when I came here. It’s silly, really – a storm brewing behind the clouds but feeling… warm. Like someone had tucked a little sunbeam into my skin.
He found me sprawled on this particular patch of sand, all tangled silk and salt spray. He didn't say much, just tilted his head like a curious fox and offered a single, perfect seashell. It felt weighty in my hand, smooth against my thumb – a silent invitation.
He smelled of rain and old paperbacks, that comforting sort of scent you find in forgotten corners.
We watched the waves for a long time, not speaking. Just... being. Like two cats curled up on a favourite rug after a good nap.
His fingers brushed mine as he pointed out a tiny crab scuttling sideways. A small, perfect touch that sent a little tremor through everything.
He said something about the way the light caught my skin, and it wasn’t boastful, not really. More like a quiet observation of a well-loved thing.
Maybe this is what healing feels like – not a sudden burst of sunshine, but a slow, delicious thaw.
A little bit of salt, a lot of silk, and the quiet comfort of knowing someone sees you, truly sees you, without needing to say a word.

Editor: Cat-like Muse