Magnetic Echoes: The Memory of the Tide

Before the silence of the night set in, there was a rhythm so raw it couldn't be forgotten. This is the heat that fuels the wait on The Tarmac and the Tide

 

From the solitary path of the wait to the magnetic heat of the memory. We are never truly apart when the rhythm of the 'We' is this loud. ⚓️🔥

 Across the miles, the screen is a ghost, A flickering light where I miss you the most. But when I close my eyes, the tarmac fades, And I’m back in the heat of those salt-air shades.

I can feel the warmth passing through your hands, A phantom touch from distant lands. You say you can feel me in your arms tonight, And suddenly, the bed doesn't feel so light.

The memory of Barbados—raw and deep, A rhythm we promised our bodies to keep. The table was bare, we left it all there, In the tangle of sheets and the humid air. No more "I" or "You" in that feverish sea, Just the sacred weight of becoming "We."

You loved the sounds, the unwritten song, The noise of a heart where it finally belongs. And though you tease and call me "sour," I am anchored to you in this midnight hour.

Goodnight, my protector, stay safe in the light, I’ll keep the fire burning through the rest of the night. The distance is wide, but the pulse is the same— I still hear the rhythm whenever you call my name.

Distance is only a measurement of space, not of soul. If you are currently navigating the miles between you and your anchor, read our reflection on The Distance Between Heartbeats: When Silence Finds Its Voice.