The Scent of Sun-Drenched Silence

The tide pulls at my ankles, a rhythm I’ve learned to trust. It’s been weeks since I last felt the salt crust on my skin or saw the sky turn this specific shade of honey.
My white shirt feels light against my skin, smelling faintly of lavender and the wind—like sheets left out on a line to dry until they hold the very essence of summer. It’s a simple thing, really. People talk about grand escapes, but I find my healing in these quiet transitions: between day and night, between city noise and ocean silence.
He stands just behind me (or maybe he's only in my mind right now). I can almost feel the ghost of his hand on my shoulder, a steady warmth that matches the setting sun. We don’t need to say much. The air is thick with the scent of brine and possibilities. In this golden hour, everything feels soft. Every worry feels like a wrinkle that can be smoothed out by a gentle breeze.
I close my eyes for a second, letting the heat sink into my bones. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to the concrete and the clatter of coffee cups, but tonight, I am just a part of the shore. I am clean, warm, and finally, at peace.

Editor: Laundry Line