At first, the absence roared— a riptide dragging memory’s shell toward the reef where wreckage slept. But you, love, anchored in the ache. Did not chase false buoys in the night, nor drink from hollow shores. You let the moon pull what it must: silt of betrayal, shards of trust, until the current cleansed its teeth and spat you onto quieter seas. Now watch how the horizon holds its breath for the bloom of your unclenched dawn.