The Salt of Memory: A Summer Echo

The sand still carries the ghost of your footprint, a faint indentation in time that I can never quite smooth over.
I remember how the salt air would cling to my skin like an old secret—sticky and sweet—while you watched me from beneath the shade of that tattered parasol. We didn't need many words; our silence was filled with the rhythm of waves crashing against the shore, a steady heartbeat for two souls drifting in sync.
Now, standing here alone as the sun begins its slow descent into gold and amber, I feel your presence like a lingering warmth on my shoulders. It is not just water that washes over me; it is the memory of how you held my hand when the tide grew cold. In this vast blue expanse, every ripple feels like an invitation to return—a soft whisper from the deep saying that even if years divide us, we are still bound by that singular afternoon where time stopped moving.
I run toward the surf again, letting the foam lace around my ankles. I am not just running into water; I am chasing the version of myself you loved so deeply under this endless sky.

Editor: South Wind