The Echo of Salt and Sunlight

The city was a heavy coat I could no longer wear, its concrete heart beating with a rhythm that felt like static. I came to this shore seeking something the skyscrapers had stolen: silence.
The waves arrived like old memories, rhythmic and relentless, washing over my ankles as if trying to scrub away the grime of subway commutes and cold fluorescent lights. The lace cover-up against my skin feels like a fragile barrier between who I was in that glass tower and who I am becoming under this amber sun.
I remember his scent—cedarwood and rain—and how he used to trace the lines on my palm as if reading a map of our future. He is miles away, lost in the same urban labyrinth, yet here, amidst the salt spray and the fading warmth of dusk, I feel him in every breeze. This ocean doesn't demand anything from me; it only asks that I exist. Perhaps healing isn't about forgetting the shadows of the city, but learning to dance within them, even when the light begins to fail.

Editor: Antique Box