THERE ARE PIECES OF THE SEA THAT STAY WITH US LONG AFTER WE'VE LEFT THE SHORE.
the hush of waves at dawn, bare feet sinking into cool sand, salt on skin that never quite fades away. somewhere, a distant buoy bell rings, gulls cry above the tide, the air tastes like sea spray and sun-warmed driftwood. nights drift by to the rhythm of waves arriving and leaving, again and again, windows open to the ocean breeze, tangled sheets scented with salt and wind.