Salt Water Therapy for Burnout Souls

I didn't come to this coast for a 'spiritual journey' or some Pinterest-perfect awakening. I came because my inbox was screaming, and so was the person sitting across from me at dinner who thought saying 'we need more quality time' while staring at his phone constituted effort.
So here I am: green bikini, salty skin, and an absolute refusal to be anyone’s support system for a weekend. The ocean doesn't ask me how my quarter looks or if I've managed the team’s expectations; it just hits the rocks with a violence that feels honest.
He called me three times before noon. He sounded desperate—the kind of desperation born from realizing his life is actually quite boring without someone to manage the emotional labor for him. I let it ring out, listening instead to the wind whipping through my hair and feeling the sun bake into my shoulders like a slow-release antidepressant.
There’s something seductive about being unreachable in an era where everyone expects instant access. My skin is glowing not because of expensive serums, but because I've finally stopped pretending that 'we' are more important than 'I'.
When I eventually go back to the city—if I do—I won't be looking for a soulmate or some fairytale ending wrapped in linen sheets. I just want someone who understands that silence isn't an empty space to fill, but a luxury worth paying for with one’s own peace.

Editor: Sharp Anna