Saltwater Solace: A Ghost of Summer Past

The city is a fever dream of glass and steel, humming with the static electricity of millions who never touch. I am its ghost—a phantom wandering through neon-lit corridors until my skin aches for something more tactile than light.

But here, the horizon does not demand attention; it offers an invitation. The sand is a soft forgiveness underfoot, and each wave that licks at my ankles carries away fragments of the noise I left behind in the skyline. My swimsuit feels like a second skin made of ocean mist, cool yet radiating with the sun's lingering kiss.

I remember your face—not as it was, but as it becomes when you close your eyes to listen for me. You are miles away in an office where clocks tick without feeling, yet I can feel our shared silence between us like a bridge made of tide-washed glass.

In this moment, the warmth isn't just from the sun; it is the quiet realization that love doesn’t need to be held tight. It survives in the spaces we leave for one another—in the salt on my lips and the way I breathe into your absence. The ocean heals what words cannot say: a promise kept between two souls drifting toward the same tide.

Editor: Floating Muse