Saltwater Antidote to City Smoke

The city smells like exhaust and stale coffee, a heavy fog that settles in the lungs. But here, on this edge of nothingness, the air is sharp with salt, burning away the grime I carried from downtown.

I let the sun hit my skin until it feels less like warmth and more like an electric hum—a quiet current running through veins starved for light. The water behind me isn't just liquid; it's a mirror of shifting blues that swallow sound. Maybe he'll be here soon, or maybe I'm finally learning to love the silence between heartbeats.

The heat is humid but forgiving now, wrapping around my shoulders like an invisible lover who understands every bruise without touching them.

Editor: Midnight Neon