The Vanishing Shore

Peace is the tide that never stays, rolling in soft whispers, retreating in sighs, touching the feet of the weary, only to slip away before they can rest. It lingers in the hush before a storm, a breath between heartbeats, a weightless second where nothing pulls— then the world stirs, and it is gone. We chase it in quiet rooms, in hands we dare not hold too tightly, in the spaces between words left unsaid, as if silence itself could make it stay. But peace is not a home, only a door, left ajar for those who walk lightly, who do not beg it to remain, but smile as it leaves, knowing it will return.