We’ve watched the tide turn,
not with the grace of moon‑drawn water,
but in a churn of noise that drowns the shoreline.
Once, the air here was salt‑bright with exchange;
now it’s thick with echoes of the same refrain.
We keep to the edges,
guarding the memory of what it felt like
when a single, well‑placed word
could still command the room.
.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 7:35 PM UTC
We’ve watched the tide turn,
not with the grace of moon‑drawn water,
but in a churn of noise that drowns the shoreline.
Once, the air here was salt‑bright with exchange;
now it’s thick with echoes of the same refrain.
We keep to the edges,
guarding the memory of what it felt like
when a single, well‑placed word
could still command the room.
.
