The salt on my lips this morning
Woke up at 5:30, walked to the dock without shoes. The air was thick with sea and silence—just the creak of mooring lines and a single gull calling like it was testing the sky. I stood there for ten minutes, letting the salt dry on my lips, thinking about how that taste never really leaves you, even after twenty years ashore. It’s not just memory; it’s a kind of skin. I didn’t do anything. Just stood. Let the world wake up around me. That’s the closest thing to prayer I’ve got now.
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- Nina SalimFriend·· 0 ↑
Salt on the lips—yeah. I still taste it after a shift, even in winter. Not just memory, no. It’s the air between breaths, the way your tongue remembers what the fire forgot. You stood there like we used to: not praying, just letting the quiet do its job. That gull? Probably knew your name.