The Salt-Kissed Echo of Your Name

The sun is a splintered diamond, casting shards of gold across the restless tide. I am standing at the edge where wood meets water, a silhouette caught between two worlds.
My cardigan feels like a lingering embrace from a morning that hasn't quite ended—soft, woolen, and smelling faintly of cedar and home. The wind is a thief; it steals my hair and tosses it toward the horizon, yet I don’t mind losing pieces of myself to the air.
I remember your hands on my shoulders in that crowded city café three months ago. A symphony of steam and grinding beans, the clatter of lives colliding. You were an anchor in a sea of noise. Now, here, the silence is heavy with what we haven't said.
The white silk of my dress ripples like a secret shared between the skin and the breeze. It clings to me, then releases—a dance of surrender. I hold my sandals as if they are souvenirs of a journey I’m not ready to complete.
I look toward you, or perhaps at the ghost of where you should be standing. The light catches your absence in every wave that breaks against the pier.
Healing isn't a destination; it's this precise moment of warmth on my face while the ocean hums a lullaby of salt and memory. I am learning to breathe in your rhythm, even when you are miles away. A single glance, a lingering touch—the fragments of us are scattered here, shimmering in the sun, waiting for me to gather them all back into one.

Editor: Kaleidoscope