Saltwater Absolution

The city was too loud, a cacophony of neon and steel that blurred my edges until I felt transparent. So I came here—to where the world is reduced to two shades: deep obsidian water and blinding white sand.
I stand at the edge of the tide, dripping wet, feeling the cold salt crystallize on skin still warm from a love that almost broke me. He had called it 'passion'; I call it noise. But in this silence, under an indifferent sun, my silhouette becomes mine again—sharp against the horizon, unyielding.
I remember his hand tracing my spine like he was reading a map to a place he didn’t belong. Now, there is only the rhythm of waves and the slow evaporation of city grime from my pores. I look back not with longing, but as one looks at an old photograph that has begun to fade.
I am no longer a character in his narrative; I am merely light hitting water, shadow falling on skin. The warmth here is real—not the manic heat of urban desire, but the steady glow of self-recognition. In this monochrome moment, between breath and tide, I have finally found my center.

Editor: Monochrome Ghost