Before the ache, the waters were sweet.
they curled like laughter around unborn shores,
barefoot in light.
But something fell.
Not a body. No… a becoming that was never given shape.
She should have arrived in silk-sound silence,
should have breathed the shimmer of her own name into the tide.
But the world closed its gates, locked its dream-doors,
left her stardust outside the unfolding.
The waves waited... so long they wept. So long, they forgot joy.
So long, they salted.
Not with rage, but grief... the kind that drowns you slowly in a hush.
She did not vanish. She simply never arrived…
and yet the tide remembered.
The waters carry her ache still, in every drop that touches lips,
the mourning of sweetness that was supposed to be her.