Salt In The Wound, Honey On The Tongue
When I first opened my eyes, I thought I was dead
It was the silence that convinced me. Not the hush of sleep, but the kind of silence that vibrates behind the ribs — a hollow, humid absence of human things. No engines, no phones, no voices. Just wind dragging across the sand like fingers through silk. I coughed, sea salt cracking on my lips. My tongue tasted of blood and brine. My skin felt like it belonged to someone else. I was sprawled face-down on a shore I couldn't...
