The Saltwater Sanctuary

The salt air clings to my skin like a secret kept for too long.
I stand where the concrete meets the tide, watching the city lights flicker in the distance—a constellation of lives I am not yet part of. They call this healing, but for me, it feels more like an exquisite ache. Every wave that crashes against the rocks is a heartbeat echoing my own, steady and relentless.

I remember your touch, a ghost of warmth against my shoulder in that crowded subway car last week. We didn't speak, yet our silence was louder than any conversation. It was a magnetism that pulled me toward you without a single word being uttered. Now, under the cooling sky, I find myself tracing the curve of your absence in the air with my fingers.

My bikini is a pale whisper against the deepening blue of the evening, much like the way I wear my feelings for you: visible but understated. I am not looking for rescue from this solitude; I am savoring it. Because in the quiet space between the wind and the waves, I can almost feel you standing right behind me, your breath a soft current against my neck. We are two shadows dancing on the edge of the world, connected by a thread so fine it only breaks when we dare to name it.

Editor: Shadow Lover