Salt & Sunlight

The sand still holds the ghost of his warmth.
It’s a peculiar thing, isn't it? How fragments linger.
I found myself returning to this beach, again and again, after…after he left. Not with tears, not really. More like a quiet unraveling. Like pulling threads from a tapestry that had been deliberately frayed.
He’d brought me here once, during the briefest of summers – a stolen week where the sky bled into the sea.
He'd simply watched me collect seashells, his hand brushing against mine as I reached for one particularly smooth and pearly white.
It wasn’t grand gestures or sweeping declarations. Just…a shared stillness under that relentless sun.
Now, when the waves roll in, they whisper his name – a gentle reminder of the way he smelled of salt and something indefinably wild.
I don't search for him in them, not anymore. I just let myself sink into the coolness of the sand, feeling its texture against my skin, letting it absorb the echoes of our time together.
It’s a strange sort of solace, this quiet ache. A recognition that some loves, like the tide, simply recede, leaving behind only a shimmering memory and the persistent scent of something beautiful – and bittersweet.

Editor: South Wind