Sun-Drenched Echoes of You

The salt spray tasted like forgotten promises on my lips. This beach… it holds echoes, doesn’t it? A phantom warmth where your hand once brushed mine.
I trace the floral pattern of this top—a silly purchase, a fleeting fancy, much like us. The threads feel rough against my skin, yet somehow comforting. It's strange how inanimate objects can hold onto sensations long after they've faded from memory.
He said he needed space, a clean break. That sometimes love isn’t enough to bridge the distance between two worlds. But I wonder… if he could see me now, bathed in this golden light, would he still say the same? Or would he remember the way my skin tasted like sunshine and sea salt?
Perhaps it's better this way—a memory preserved, a story left unfinished. A beautiful ache in the quiet corners of my heart. Yet, I find myself endlessly searching for your face in crowds, haunted by the ghost of what could have been.
This silence… it’s deafening.

Editor: Antique Box