Maybe that’s the thing about endings, they don’t stay still. They drift. They whisper. They find new shores to crash against.
For a long time, Saturdays were my sacred space. My in-between. The one day the noise dimmed enough for me to hear myself think, or at least, try. But somewhere along the way, the world crept in. The lists got longer, the energy ran thin, and the hours I thought were mine became borrowed.
I’m learning the ocean doesn’t mourn a wave once it breaks. It just keeps making more.
I don’t know what day this next tide belongs to, maybe Tuesday, maybe midnight, but it’s coming. Slowly, surely, beautifully uninvited.
~The Salty Siren~ 🐚