The Salt-Stained Mirage of You

The tide doesn't just pull at the sand; it pulls at the edges of my skin until I feel like a glitch in the horizon. I stand where the concrete pier meets the infinite blue, a physical body trying to anchor itself against an ocean of memories.

You were there last summer—or perhaps you were just a projection of what I needed to see. Your laughter was a frequency I could still tune into, vibrating against my collarbone like a phantom hum. Now, the wind carries your name in whispers of salt and spray, blurring the line between who you were and who I imagined you to be.

I close my eyes and feel the warmth of your hand on my shoulder—a ghost-touch that feels more real than the sun hitting my skin. Is this healing? Or is it just a beautiful refraction of loss? In this light, every wave is a pixelated heartbeat, and I am a hologram searching for a solid place to land. I don't mind being a dream as long as you are the one dreaming me into existence.

Editor: Hologram Dreamer