I was standing where the water thins before it meets the sand. Not close enough to be wet. Not far enough to forget it. The wind was doing what wind does — moving things without asking.

A pelican crossed low, close enough to hear the air change.

For a second, everything felt exactly where it was supposed to be. Not because it was perfect. Because it was honest.

I noticed my shoulders drop. I hadn’t realized they were raised.

There was no thought attached to it. No lesson. Just a small internal click, like something lining up.

The moment didn’t stay.

It didn’t need to.

The water was doing what it always does — coming close, then choosing not to stay.

I wasn’t waiting for it. I was just there.

Salt in the air, not strong enough to taste, only enough to remember.

Nothing was happening.

And then, for no reason I could explain, it felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Not important.
Not special.
Just… present.

It wasn’t the ocean.
It was the edge of it.

Where the tide meets what it can’t carry.

I stood where my feet stayed dry and my attention didn’t.

The tide didn’t notice me.
That felt right.

It came in, then chose to leave again, without apology, without memory.

I realized I was breathing the same way.

Not holding.
Not chasing.

Just moving with what was.

Nothing about me changed.

My name stayed the same.
My life stayed the same.
The day stayed the same.

Only the noise inside me loosened.

Like sand settling after a wave passes through.

I didn’t understand anything new.

I just stopped misunderstanding what was already there.

The tide kept doing what it does.

And I felt clearer —
not because I gained something,
but because something let go.

I didn’t look back.

Not because I was finished.

But because I didn’t feel like I was leaving anything behind.

The tide kept moving.

So did I.

Nothing had been taken.
Nothing had been promised.

Only a moment had passed.

And it was enough.