The Salt-Stained Ghost of a Summer Memory

I feel the salt air clinging to my skin like a secret kept too long.
The waves are not just water; they are the rhythmic pulse of a city that never sleeps, echoing against the jagged rocks of my memory. I sit here at the threshold of two worlds—the concrete labyrinth I call home and this vast, indifferent blue that offers no answers.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his face in the flicker of streetlights, a ghost conjured by the neon hum of late-night convenience stores. He was the warmth in my cold mornings, the steady hand on my shoulder when the world felt too heavy to bear. Now, he is just a frequency I tune into during these solitary hours.
The wind tugs at my hair, trying to pull me back into the present, but I am reaching for him across the distance of time and tide. I want to be healed by his presence, yet I fear that if I finally find him in my dreams, I will never have the strength to wake up and face the morning alone.
The sun dips low, painting the horizon in shades of bruised violet. Here, on this rock, I am both a woman seeking solace and a soul being summoned by a love that refuses to dissolve into the sea.

Editor: Prompt Engineer