of the evening settle around me. Everything feels slower here—the hours, the tide, even my own thoughts. For the first time in what feels like forever, there is nowhere else I need to be.]
[ I uncork the bottle, the soft pop of the cork almost swallowed by the subtle sound of the ocean filtering in through the open window. I pour the wine slowly, watching the dark red catch in the light before settling into the glass.
The humidity clings to my skin, warm •••
and damp, carrying the faint scent of salt through the room. Outside, waves roll steadily toward the shore, their rhythm unhurried. The curtains stir with each passing breeze, brushing against the window frame.
I take a sip and lean against the sill, letting the warmth •••
bones loosens it's grip, thawed by the sun slipping beneath the clouds. Somewhere beyond this dock life can be resumed, but for now, in the small pocket of borrowed time, the only urgency is turning the page.]
Page. The hushed silence between paragraphs, stretches like the last frost to the grass. A subtle crisp in the air, as the world begins to stir reluctantly around me. Time softens the harsh edges of the soul-crushing blow that is Monday. The chill that once settled in my •••
[Slowly with each page turned it breathes life back into me. Winter drawing to a close as the dark gives way to the light, the sun a mere speck kissing the surface of the water. My coffee long forgotten at my feet with the promise of another as my fingers push back another •••