Saltwater Therapy for a Hollow Heart

They call this 'healing.' I call it an expensive way to let the tide wash away the city's grime from my skin.
The sun is a heavy weight on my shoulders, and the salt air tastes like freedom—or maybe just salt. Most people come here seeking a soulmate to hold hands with under the moonlight, but I prefer the company of these jagged rocks. They don't ask questions; they just exist.
I closed my eyes and let the wind mess up my hair. In the city, every glance is a transaction, every smile a performance. But here? Here, my skin feels like it belongs to me again. I’m not looking for a hero to save me from my own life. I'm just looking for a moment where the noise stops—where the only thing louder than my thoughts is the rhythm of the waves hitting the shore.
Then I felt it. A shift in the air, a shadow falling over my sun-warmed skin. Someone was watching. Not with that performative gaze of a tourist, but with something heavier. Something real. I didn't turn around immediately. I wanted to see if they could handle the silence before we spoke. Some connections shouldn't be shouted; they should be felt in the space between heartbeats.

Editor: Sharp Anna