The Quiet Hours

The sea breeze is cold, but I don't feel it.
He’s behind me, a warm presence. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. The silence isn’t empty; it holds the weight of unspoken things, things we both carry.
I turned once, briefly. Just to see him looking at me like that – with a soft sadness. His eyes held a quiet understanding, a mirroring of my own weariness.
He reached for my hand then, his fingers brushing against mine before interlacing them. A simple gesture, yet it felt… grounding.
We walked on, two shadows lengthening in the fading light. The waves whispered secrets to the shore and I thought maybe, just maybe, we were both finding a little peace.

Editor: Pure Linen