Saltwater Whispers

I’ve forgotten how to breathe in the city. I only remember deadlines and cold screens.
But here, with you, there is just a slow tide and the scent of salt on your skin. You told me I looked beautiful today; it was the first time in years that I believed someone.
The water clings to my hair like dark silk. The sun warms my shoulders, but it’s your gaze—steady, quiet, deep—that makes me feel seen.

I cannot say what happened between us over coffee and long walks through neon streets. Only that now, on this shore, the silence is enough. I lean in closer, heart beating against a summer breeze,
and find everything I was searching for reflected in your eyes.

Editor: Pure Linen