The Salt of Us

The sea always knew. It saw the way I’d crumble, piece by piece, after he'd leave each season – a ghost ship sailing away with parts of my sun.
This year felt different though. This year, when the waves crashed, they didn't feel like accusations but echoes of a resilience I hadn’t known I possessed. It wasn’t about waiting for him to return; it was realizing that every tide washes away what no longer serves us, leaving behind polished stones ready for a new current.
He found me here today, naturally. Said he missed the way the salt air caught in my hair. He didn't recognize the quiet strength in my eyes. It used to unravel me when he’d return, wanting pieces of what I was becoming after all that we went through… but now? Now there's only a curious warmth as our fingers brush—a flicker of something familiar yet distant.
The ocean remembers everything. And so do I. But some memories are just anchors reminding us how far we’ve sailed.

Editor: Morning Runner