There are places that speak not with words, but with silence. The beach that day wasn’t made for loud laughter or company. It was wind-swept and quiet, with faded grasses bowing to the breeze and water brushing the shore like a memory returning.
I didn’t come for the sea—I came for myself.
No headphones. No filters. Just the soft scrape of sandals on pale sand and the long shadow of my own figure stretching beside me.
Each step felt like a release. My thoughts were many, yet none screamed for attention. They floated—like birds above me—untamed but peaceful.
The landscape gave nothing and asked nothing. That was its gift.
I passed driftwood and lonely trees, the light bending warm and gold in places, cold and silver in others. There was beauty in how undone it all felt. Like I didn’t need to smile for a picture. Like my body, my mind, this breeze—belonged here just as they were.
And somewhere in that soft stillness, I remembered that being with myself could feel like home.
