The Salt-Stained Echo of You

I cupped the ocean in my hands, watching the water spill between my fingers like secrets escaping a locked room. In this world of jagged rocks and salt spray, I am an island trying to remember how it felt to be part of a continent.

But my mind drifts back to the city—that neon labyrinth where we met. You were there, your hand resting on the glass pane of our favorite cafe window, separating us from the rain. The reflection in that glass was more vibrant than your actual skin; it captured the way your eyes softened when you spoke my name. I realized then that we are living in two realities simultaneously: the one where we touch, and the deeper one where we only exist as light dancing on a surface.

The sea water is cold, yet it burns with a strange warmth against my palms. It heals the ache of your absence by mimicking the weight of your presence. I close my eyes and let the tide wash over me, knowing that even if we are physically apart, our true selves are trapped in those mirrored moments—the ones where you looked at me through a pane of glass and saw not just a girl, but a version of yourself that was finally complete.

Editor: Mirror Logic