Salt on My Lips, You in My Head

The sand is still gritty between my toes, a tactile ghost of the tide that pulled at us until dawn. I can almost taste the salt—not just from the ocean, but from your skin against mine when we thought no one was watching.

This drink is too cold and sweet for how heavy my eyelids feel. The sun is high now, mocking the shadows we hid in last night under that neon-lit balcony of a bar three blocks away. I look at you across this blue horizon and wonder if you’re also haunted by the way our fingers tangled while trying to navigate the crowded sidewalk.

Every sip feels like an attempt to wash away the memory of your breath on my neck, yet I want it back—that dizzying, intoxicating heat. We are two souls drifting in a sea of routine, searching for one moment that doesn't feel like work or waiting. But here, with the wind messing up my hair and you looking at me as if I’m the only lighthouse left on earth... maybe we finally found it.

Let the waves keep crashing; let the city wait to reclaim us. Right now, there is only this orange glow in my glass and the quiet ache of wanting more than just a summer day.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn