Salt & Echoes

The sand remembers.
It clings to my skin, a residue of the day's heat – a ghost of his hand brushing against mine as we walked.
The horizon bled apricot and bruised violet. Not a dramatic spectacle, just... quiet. Like the ocean exhaling after a storm.
I came here seeking nothing, merely the weight of salt on my lips, the insistent whisper of waves against the shore. It’s a familiar ache, this solitude. A comfortable sorrow.
He doesn't know I watch him from afar—the barista at that small cafe near the pier. The way he smiles when he hands over a perfectly poured latte. It isn’t *for* me, of course. Not truly.
But today, as the last sliver of sun dipped below the water, something shifted. A warmth spread through my chest, not fueled by expectation, but simply… acceptance.
The wind tangled my hair, mirroring the chaos within. Perhaps unrequited is just a shade darker than desired.
And maybe, just maybe, letting go allows room for a different kind of light to find its way in.

Editor: Summer Cicada