The Salt of Your Silence

The tide doesn't just wash away the sand; it carries off the fragments of who I used to be before you found me in this gray city.
My skin still hums with the phantom touch of the ocean spray, a cool contrast to the feverish memory of your hand against my waist last night. We are two shadows dancing at the edge of a vanishing horizon—close enough to feel each other's breath, yet worlds apart in our private silences.
I wear this black silk like armor, a veil between my public smile and the secret ache that blooms when you look at me as if I were the only lighthouse in your storm. You don't say it—love is rarely spoken aloud here—but I feel it in the way you linger by the shoreline, letting our fingers brush against the wet sand.
In this golden hour, the world blurs into a haze of amber and salt. It’s a healing kind of ache, a slow-burning warmth that doesn't demand answers. You are my quiet sanctuary, the secret pulse beneath my skin. Let the waves take everything else; for now, in the space between heartbeats, there is only us.

Editor: Shadow Lover