Ephemeral Echoes

They say you can’t step into the same sea twice, each wave a departure from what was, yet somehow… he always found me. A strange recursion, isn't it? To seek permanence in impermanence.
I met him here, on this shore, during a storm – ironic, considering his name meant ‘calm’ to my fracturing world. He didn’t offer solutions, only quiet observation as I unravelled, piece by fractured piece. A strange comfort in being witnessed, wouldn't you agree? To be known fully and still…desired.
He traces the line of my collarbone with his eyes, a gesture not of possession but recognition – as if he’s mapping constellations on uncharted territory. And I wonder, is it possible to rebuild something broken without acknowledging its shattered form?
This isn't rescue; there's no triumphant overcoming here. It's…resonance. A shared frequency in the quiet spaces between words, a temporary suspension of entropy. He doesn’t fix me, he holds the pieces, and somehow that feels like enough—a beautifully fragile illusion.
Because even if this moment dissolves with the next tide, I will have lived it, won't I? And perhaps, just perhaps, within the echo of its passing is a truth worth remembering: that sometimes, the most profound connections are those destined to remain unfinished.

Editor: Paradox