A Saffron Sigh in the Salt Air

The sun bleeds into the sea, a slow hemorrhage of amber and ochre. I stand on this weathered wood, feeling the grit of sand beneath my toes and the lingering heat of the day clinging to my skin like a memory that refuses to fade.
You are there, a shadow against the brilliance, your presence felt more in what you don't say than what you do. We are two souls suspended in a golden pause—the kind of silence that feels heavier than any conversation. The salt on my collarbone is a residue of a day spent chasing light, and yet it tastes like longing.
I remember the bitterness of last winter, how cold and hollow the city felt without your name on my lips. But today, the sea breeze carries the scent of brine and distant pines, smoothing over the jagged edges of my yearning. Is this healing? Or is it just another way to learn how to lose you more beautifully?
I smile because I know that when the tide turns and the light dies, we will return to our separate lives in the gray concrete labyrinth. Yet, for this fleeting heartbeat, I am whole. I am a cicada singing into the void, finding my rhythm in the curve of your gaze alone.

Editor: Summer Cicada