The Salt on My Skin is a Prayer for You

The sun is a heavy weight today, pressing against my shoulders like the memory of your hand. It burns with an intensity that makes every breath feel thick—tasting of salt and parched earth.

I stand where the sea meets the sand, watching the waves dissolve into nothingness. They are constant, yet always fleeing from me. I wear this iridescent fabric against my skin; it is a shimmering veil between who I am now and the girl you left behind in that crowded city train station.

The water droplets cling to me like pearls of sweat—each one a tiny monument to an unspoken word. My hair dances with the wind, trying to escape its own tangle, much as my heart tries to unravel from your name. I am here seeking healing, but perhaps only finding more heat.

You are not on this shore. You are in the air—a phantom warmth that makes me shiver even under a blazing sky. Yet, for one fleeting moment when the light catches the curve of my collarbone and the iridescent fabric glows like fallen stars, I feel you. It is enough to sustain me through another day of waiting.

The cicadas are screaming in the distance—a bitter symphony of life that persists despite everything. Like them, I will endure this summer. Not because I expect your return, but because there is a quiet beauty in surviving the heat alone.

Editor: Summer Cicada