Saltwater Whispers and the Warmth of Your Shadow

The sand still holds the day's heat against my skin, a lingering embrace that feels like your hand in mine.
I sit here on this weathered wood, watching the tide retreat like a secret being pulled back into the deep. My fingers brush against my lips—a nervous habit I only developed since meeting you in that crowded, neon-lit cafe three months ago. You were the espresso to my restless morning, and now, even here by the ocean, I can taste your presence in the salt air.

People call this a getaway, but for me, it’s a return. Every wave that crashes is a heartbeat of memory—the way you looked at me under the streetlights, the way your voice smoothed out my jagged edges. The world outside is so loud, so demanding, yet here, in the golden hour's glow, everything feels soft and manageable.

I pull my knees closer to my chest, feeling a delicious ache of longing. I’m not just waiting for the sun to set; I’m waiting for that moment when your shadow will fall over mine again, and I can finally stop pretending that I don't need you to feel whole. Until then, let the sea keep my secrets, and let this warmth be my sanctuary.

Editor: Coco