I dreamt of us beside the sea,
In which my world seemed to end in silver light
and begin once again in your eyes.
We lived in one small, weathered house
perched just above the shoreline,
its windows held forever open
to the tune of the crashing waves.
Each morning arrives quite softly,
wrapped in the salt ridden air and gold sunlight.
I’d wake to find you there,
your hair entangled within dawn,
your sleepy hand searching for mine
as if even in sleep
you were scared of even an inch.
The water would know our names.
It’d whisper them in the sand,
carry them across the horizon,
and return to us when the sun sets,
like treasures it shant keep.
On some evenings we’d walk the shore barefoot,
Able to follow no path but each other.
The tide would curl beneath our ankles,
the sky would blush hues of violet and rose,
and the stars would appear, one by one
As if they were the shreds of heaven falling towards us
We spoke of such small things,
the shapes of the clouds, the flight of distant birds on the horizon, the way your laughter can make everything brighter,
yet somehow the small conversations
felt so much larger.
And when storms would come, as the storms would, we’d sit by the window, watching droplets strike the water, your head resting soft against my shoulder.
Then I awoke, the waves having gone,
The house, vanished into dust.
The shoreline faded into my foggy memory.
But one thing had stayed,
the feeling of your hand in mine,
so real that for one simple moment
I searched for you in that empty room
Ever since then,
part of me still always lives there,
in that small house near the clear water,
where the sea sings wistfully through our open windows,
where the bright orange sunsets never conclude,
and where I’m allowed to love you
for the rest of my forever, and all of time
1d ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 12:31 AM UTC
I dreamt of us beside the sea,
In which my world seemed to end in silver light
and begin once again in your eyes.
We lived in one small, weathered house
perched just above the shoreline,
its windows held forever open
to the tune of the crashing waves.
Each morning arrives quite softly,
wrapped in the salt ridden air and gold sunlight.
I’d wake to find you there,
your hair entangled within dawn,
your sleepy hand searching for mine
as if even in sleep
you were scared of even an inch.
The water would know our names.
It’d whisper them in the sand,
carry them across the horizon,
and return to us when the sun sets,
like treasures it shant keep.
On some evenings we’d walk the shore barefoot,
Able to follow no path but each other.
The tide would curl beneath our ankles,
the sky would blush hues of violet and rose,
and the stars would appear, one by one
As if they were the shreds of heaven falling towards us
We spoke of such small things,
the shapes of the clouds, the flight of distant birds on the horizon, the way your laughter can make everything brighter,
yet somehow the small conversations
felt so much larger.
And when storms would come, as the storms would, we’d sit by the window, watching droplets strike the water, your head resting soft against my shoulder.
Then I awoke, the waves having gone,
The house, vanished into dust.
The shoreline faded into my foggy memory.
But one thing had stayed,
the feeling of your hand in mine,
so real that for one simple moment
I searched for you in that empty room
Ever since then,
part of me still always lives there,
in that small house near the clear water,
where the sea sings wistfully through our open windows,
where the bright orange sunsets never conclude,
and where I’m allowed to love you
for the rest of my forever, and all of time
