Filled up Stories

We came to the island to vanish, to let the weight of the world dissolve until only the sea and heat and your body remained. The bungalow wasn’t shelter; it was surrender, its wood breathing salt, its shutters yawning open to the horizon, its fan turning slow and heavy overhead as if measuring time only for us. Even silence pulsed alive, and the island listened as it began stripping us bare. By dusk, you were already chan...