The Saltwater Cure for a Concrete Heart

The city air always tastes of exhaust and deadlines, a heavy wool blanket draped over my shoulders until I can barely breathe. But here? Here is where the world turns into liquid sapphire.
I press my toes into the cooling sand, feeling every grain tell me secrets about the tides. The ocean doesn't care about spreadsheets or unread emails; it only knows how to pulse with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat when I think of you.
The soda in my hand is effervescent—tiny bubbles dancing like stars against glass—mimicking the way your voice still flickers in my mind, bright and sharp.
I wear white lace because it feels like foam clinging to the shore, a fragile barrier between me and the deep blue ache of missing you. Every wave that licks at my ankles is a soft kiss from memory, washing away the soot of city life until I am clean again.
You told me once that love is just finding home in someone else's eyes. Now, standing under this vast sky, I realize I’m not alone; I’ve brought your ghost to the beach with me, and for a moment, between the salt spray and the sun-kissed breeze, we are perfectly still.

Editor: Cat-like Muse