Open knit sweater in actual salt air. both hands holding my own face because the sun was warm and there was genuinely nowhere to be.
the particular thing about the water's edge β no one tracks time there. the waves do it quietly, for all of you.
this sweater breathes in a way that makes sense here. the open weave catches the same air the ocean keeps sending over. the gold pendant warm against my collarbone in the way only afternoon sun can make something feel β like warmth has weight, like it's settling into the metal and deciding to stay.
the afternoon didn't ask anything of me. i stayed in it anyway.













