Day 25: Early

The sun has not yet risen.
The sky is grey, but not cold.

I wear my linen pants.
White, soft, familiar.
Underneath, a loose white top.

That’s Kaia.

A merino sweater, warm, light, high at the neck.
My hair is still damp from the shower.
I said nothing when I left the house.
Just pulled the door closed behind me.

The streets are empty.
Only the bakery across the road has light.
It smells of dough and sea air.

I walk slowly.
The air tastes of the Atlantic.
I hear the sea,
but I don’t see it yet.

I don’t know if I’ll dare
to go all the way down to the water.
But I am on my way.

And that is enough for today.

I reach the waterline.
My steps sink slightly into the sand.
The sea comes and goes around my feet.
Salt. Cold. Retreat. Return.

I don’t look up.
Not toward the horizon.
Not toward the waves,
which are breaking more beautifully today than in all the weeks before.

I see only my feet.
The play of the water.
A coming and going.
Like life. Like him.

I just keep walking.
Still slowly.
I don’t notice that it’s getting warmer.
That the sun has already risen.

At some point I feel the heat.
I tie the sweater around my hips.
Beneath it I wear the tank top.
Not tight. Loose. Air between fabric and skin.

I stop.
The water reaches my ankles.
Then pulls back.
I breathe. Not deep. Not shallow. Just here.

I don’t yet see the beauty of my beach.
Not the colors, not the light.
Not yet.

But I’m here.
I’m walking.
And I’m no longer inside.

“It’s strange how much peace hides in those early steps. Before the city wakes, before the mind fills with noise. No music, no thoughts. Just the sound of sand and breath. And somehow that’s enough.
To feel the sea again. To feel myself again.”