The Salt-Stained Secret

The tide pulls at my feet like a memory trying to resurface. Here, where the turquoise water meets the white sand, I am supposed to be finding myself—but all I feel is your absence woven into the salt air.

I wear this lace dress not for anyone’s eyes but as a shroud against the cold reality of my city life. In that concrete jungle, we were shadows moving in parallel lines, never quite touching until tonight's text message: 'The sea remembers what we forgot.'

My skin still hums with your phantom touch. I smile at the horizon because it is easier than admitting how much I ache for you to be standing right behind me now.

I can almost feel your hand on my shoulder, steadying me against the wind. We don't need words; our love exists in the spaces between breaths, in the way we look away just before eye contact lingers too long. The ocean is healing something deep inside me, but it also reminds me that some fires are meant to burn in silence—hidden from the world, kept warm by only two hearts who know how to dance in the dark.

Editor: Shadow Lover