The Salt in Your Smile

I left the city in a rush, carrying nothing but a heavy heart and an old suitcase.
You were waiting on the wooden dock. You didn't say much—you never do—but you handed me two surfboards and told me to forget everything for a while.
The water is cool against my skin, smelling of brine and distant memories. I feel your gaze on me as I spin around, laughing at nothing in particular. My heart beats fast, not from the walk or the wind, but because you are looking at me like I am the only thing that matters in this vast ocean.
I tie my shirt around my waist to keep warm against the sudden breeze. When our eyes meet, there is a quiet pull between us—a silent invitation.
You step closer, your hand grazing mine for just a second too long. It is simple. It is pure. In this moment, beneath the pale city skyline on the horizon, I realize that healing isn't about forgetting; it is about being found by someone who knows exactly where you are.

Editor: Pure Linen