Saltwater Echoes in a Concrete Lullaby

The tide doesn't just wash away the sand; it dissolves the boundaries of who I am supposed to be.
I stand where the white foam becomes a ghost, my skin drinking in a warmth that isn't entirely from the sun—it’s the lingering hum of his voice against my ear during our midnight walk through the neon labyrinth of Seoul. In this light, the ocean is no longer water; it is a shimmering liquid memory of how he held me when my world felt jagged and sharp.
My white lace feels like woven mist on my skin, blurring into the spray that rises from the deep. I can almost feel his fingers tracing the line of my jaw again—a touch so precise it leaves no mark yet alters everything inside. We are two bodies moving through a city of steel, seeking soft edges in a hard world.
I close my eyes and let the salt air carry me back to that apartment balcony where we shared a single cup of tea as the skyline bled into gray. Here, on this beach, I am not just a woman standing alone; I am an unfinished sentence waiting for him to breathe life into its next syllable.

Editor: The Unfinished