When the Ocean Speaks Her Name

I loved you like the tide loves the shore— a quiet pull, a force that cannot be resisted. And now, you are leaving, pulling the moonlight from my nights. We sat by the ocean once, the salt air braiding our silences, the waves writing your name into my soul. Now, every ripple whispers you back to me, every tide is your farewell. We rode bicycles for miles, spokes spinning like the clock that chased us, laughter a symphony in the wind. Now, when the road bends, I see you ahead, always just out of reach. We drank screwdrivers, the orange glow of our glasses mimicking the sun that set too soon on us. Now, every bitter-sweet sip is the ghost of your laughter, the warmth I can no longer hold. Our last night in this town, fireworks tore the sky apart, their light staining our faces, their thunder drowning my pleas for you to stay. When the clock struck twelve, I learned how silence could break me. Now, every New Year will carry your shadow, a ghost in the colors of the night. When I return to this town, I will find you in every street, in every sea breeze, in every cracked sidewalk. Memories will ambush me in quiet corners, calling your name in a language only I understand. You are leaving, but how can I let go when the world you touched still holds your fingerprints?