The Salt-Stained Epilogue of Us

I have always felt like a relic found in the wrong century, carrying my heart through steel corridors and fluorescent lights that never sleep. The city is an archive of noise where we forget how to breathe.
He was there—a silent anchor amidst the digital chaos. He didn't ask me why I looked so tired; he simply took my hand and led me away from everything that demanded a deadline. Now, here on this coast where time seems to dissolve into white sand, I let the wind peel back layers of city armor.
I wear his oversized sweater like an old memory—soft, smelling faintly of cedar and rain. The fabric slips off one shoulder as if it too wishes to be free from structure. My skin feels raw under a sun that does not judge me for being broken.
With my toes sinking into the cool grit, I wrote 'Fei' in the sand—my name, or perhaps an invocation of who I used to be before the city erased her edges. The tide is coming; it will take this word back soon enough. But as he watches me from a distance with that familiar gaze, I realize healing isn't about fixing what was lost, but learning how to belong in the silence between two heartbeats.
I turn toward him, my body curved like an unfinished sentence, inviting him into the quiet space where we can finally be still.

Editor: Antique Box