The Walk

Two small figures beneath a wide and kindly sky.

Some friendships are shaped by geography; others become the map.

We met where the path bent toward the sea. The wind learned our names and carried them like salt. Some friendships are shaped by geography. Others become the map itself.

The sand gives softly beneath our feet,
each step a small promise the sea will soon erase.
We don’t speak — we don’t need to.
Light moves with us,
folding the world into gold and hush.

For a moment,
it feels as though the shore remembers
how it was to love without needing to hold.