Saltwater Antidote

The city is a parasite, feeding on my time until I’m nothing but a collection of deadlines and caffeine jitters. They call it 'hustle,' I call it slow-motion erasure.

Then there’s this beach—a jagged piece of silence carved out of the noise. The salt air doesn't care about my KPIs or my social status. It just sits on my skin, heavy and honest. I watch the tide retreat like a secret being kept from the shore.

He’s standing a few feet away, his shadow stretching toward mine. He hasn't said anything, which is more than I can say for most men in this city who think silence is a void to be filled with cheap poetry. He just looks at me—really looks at me—with eyes that haven't been clouded by expectations.

I press my finger to my lips, not because I’m shy, but because I’m deciding if I want to let him in or keep my sanctuary guarded. There is a warmth here that isn't just the sun; it’s the healing of being seen without being judged. Maybe romance isn't about grand gestures or flowery prose. Maybe it’s just this: two people standing at the edge of the world, breathing in sync while the tide washes away the debris of who we were supposed to be.

Editor: Sharp Anna