dear shore,
i return to you weary, carrying the same words i have written for centuries. my voice breaks in waves, but you only let it scatter into grains of silence.
i bring you offerings—shells hollowed by absence, seaweed tangled like sorrow, bones of forgotten ships. you take them without answer, your stillness sharper than any storm.
yet i cannot stop. to retreat would be to unmake myself. so i press against you, again and again, until i am nothing but salt in your memory.
yours without reply,
the sea.
Oct 14, 2025
Oct 14, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
dear shore,
i return to you weary, carrying the same words i have written for centuries. my voice breaks in waves, but you only let it scatter into grains of silence.
i bring you offerings—shells hollowed by absence, seaweed tangled like sorrow, bones of forgotten ships. you take them without answer, your stillness sharper than any storm.
yet i cannot stop. to retreat would be to unmake myself. so i press against you, again and again, until i am nothing but salt in your memory.
yours without reply,
the sea.
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