The Last Stop at Meridian Beach

I stood in the shallow tide until my knees were cold, watching the skyline where we had once walked. The city felt a thousand miles away now; just another constellation of lights waiting to guide me home if I got lost again. He never made it off that bus last November—the one with the broken heater and the driver who looked like he'd seen everything—but maybe he's here, in this quiet lapping against my skin.

The water was warm enough to forget how much we didn't say. My bikini clung damply as a second thought, just another layer of armor I could finally strip off without fear of judgment or consequence. Every wave whispered his name softly—not loud like before—until the rhythm matched our heartbeat under the same moonlight.

It wasn’t about finding him again; it was learning to love myself enough that maybe one day we’d meet somewhere between sunset and dawn, where nothing matters except being found.

Editor: Terminal Chronicler