You walk backwards into dusk,
feet pressing softly into the sand,
watching gold melt into violet,
as if the sky itself were slipping
into something more comfortable.
I watch you, always watching,
the way your hair catches the last light,
how the wind tries to tangle you in its arms—
but you are already held, already mine,
moving toward me even as you walk away.
You are beautiful like this—
not just in the glow of the setting sun,
but in every quiet moment in between,
in the way your laughter lingers like seafoam,
in the way your eyes hold the horizon,
as if you could keep this moment from fading away.
To me, you are the sunset,
the tide, the sky, its endless depth—
and I could spend forever watching you.
Isn’t love like this?
Moving forward while looking back,
trusting what’s ahead, knowing what’s behind—
our footprints stretching side by side,
even when the tide comes to claim them.
We walk like this through life,
not always seeing the road before us,
but stepping in time, heart to heart,
toward something we don’t need to name,
because it is already ours.
