A Whisper Against the Stone

The city was too loud today. Too many faces, too many expectations. I came here to let the salt air wash them away.
The basalt rocks stand like silent sentinels against the grey sky. They have endured for centuries; I am just passing through for a moment.
My fingers trace the rough texture of my coat, still holding the warmth of my own breath. The wind bites at my cheeks, but inside, there is a quiet hum—a steady rhythm that belongs only to me.
Then I see you. Not in person, but in the way the light hits the waves. You are the thought I carry like a secret coin in my pocket.
You didn't say anything when we met at the train station this morning. You just took my hand for three seconds. Three seconds of skin against skin, warmth meeting cold.
I am standing on the edge of the world now, but I am still feeling your palm against mine. It is a small thing. A tiny spark in the vast grey. But it is enough to make me feel whole again.

Editor: Pure Linen