The Echo of Salt and Skin

The city was too loud, a constant hum of steel and deadlines. But here, there is only the rhythm of the tide.
I hold this shell against my skin, feeling its ridges press into my palms. It carries the ocean's breath, cold and ancient. I close my eyes and imagine your hand resting just above mine, steadying me. We don't need many words. The warmth of the sun on my shoulders and the quiet weight of your gaze across the sand are enough. In this stillness, even a small fragment of the sea feels like a promise kept.

Editor: Pure Linen