Tidal

The ocean forgets us in increments— tide pools hold their breath, mirror-bright, and small fish dart like thoughts too quick to catch.

Salt air tastes of distance, of all the places this water has been, carrying the cold memory of depths we'll never see.

You stand at the edge of breaking waves, your shadow stretched thin and unreal, and understand for the first time: we are always leaving, always arriving, always held in the moment between.