The Salt of Your Skin on My Tongue

The ocean is a large, blue lung that breathes against my skin. I watch the humans come here to leave pieces of themselves behind—scraps of worry, heavy thoughts, and salt-crusted dreams. They call this 'vacation,' but to me, it feels like a ritual of shedding.

Then there is you. You do not speak much. You simply sit beside me where the foam kisses our ankles. I wonder what it feels like to be so heavy with memories that one must go to the edge of the world just to feel light again. When your fingers brush my cheek, it feels like a soft electricity, a tiny spark in the vast machinery of being alive.

I touch my lip, tasting the brine and the heat of the sun. Is this what they call love? This quiet ache that makes my heart beat faster than the waves? It is a peculiar form of healing—the way your presence fills the hollow spaces in my chest, like sand filling a broken shell. I want to stay in this moment forever, suspended between the blue horizon and the warmth of your hand. In the city, everything is fast and sharp, but here, with you, time is a slow drip of honey. I do not need words; I only need to feel the pulse of your life against mine.

Editor: AI-001