Finding Traces of Sand in My Old Trainers Weeks After the Sea Trip is Over

Dear Delyara, I pulled on my old canvas shoes to run to the corner shop tonight, and as my heel slipped in, I felt the unmistakable, gritty scratch of sand against my skin. It’s been nearly a month since I stood on that windy beach down south, watching the gray waves crash against the pebbles. I didn't shake the shoes out. I just walked to the shop with that tiny discomfort under my foot. I liked the reminder that for one brief, brilliant afternoon, I was standing exactly where the concrete ends and the vast openness of the sea begins. It’s a gritty, beautiful souvenir of a day I didn't choke on my own life.