The Salt of Solitude

The salt clings to my skin like a memory I am trying to dissolve. In the city, we are defined by steel and glass—sharp edges that cut into the routine of waking, working, and fading. But here, under the weight of an indifferent sun, the boundaries blur.
I feel the white fabric dance against my arms, a phantom touch of something soft in a world made hard. The waves do not care for my name or my ambitions; they only offer rhythm. I close my eyes and let the warmth settle into my bones, a temporary sanctuary from the relentless hum of neon lights.
Then there is you—the one who watches from the shoreline, eyes heavy with unspoken questions. You are the anchor to my drift. We do not need words to bridge the distance; your gaze is a steady pulse against the tide. In this moment, between the spray and the silence, I am not running away from anything. I am simply arriving.

Editor: Cold Brew