Saltwater Whispers: The Softness of Your Presence

The sun feels like a familiar hand resting on my shoulder, warm and steady.
I can still taste the salt of the ocean air—a sharp contrast to the lingering sweetness of your coffee yesterday morning.

People watch me walk along this shoreline, seeing only a girl in white lace catching the light. They do not see how I am carrying you with me inside my ribcage like a pressed flower between pages. Every step feels lighter now, as if the tide has washed away the heavy dust of city streets and deadlines.

I stop for just a moment near the edge where the water meets sand, letting the breeze tug at my hair. It is here that I realized healing isn't a grand event; it’s these quiet intervals between breaths—the way your name feels on my lips when no one else is listening.

I find myself smiling for no reason at all, or perhaps because of everything we haven't said yet. The horizon stretches out like an unwritten letter, and I am finally ready to begin writing mine with you.

Editor: Evelyn Lin