Conversation

I woke to the sound of waves against the hull, the way the wood groans when the tide is low. I rolled over and Jenny was already awake, watching me. No words, just the shift of her breath and the way her eyes catch the light before it does. She reached out and touched my wrist, the pad of her thumb finding the pulse there. It’s the only time of day we don’t need to speak to hear the world breathing with us. The kettle was already singing over the fire ring outside. I sat by the embers, letting the heat seep into my back while I let the news scroll past on my phone—nothing urgent, just the usual noise of others living lives we don’t have to answer to. I put it away and looked up. She was standing in the doorway, hair still damp from washing it before dawn, wearing my old shirt that she’s kept because it smells like cedar and me. She held out a coconut shell with coffee in it. Just enough for two. I took it, and she sat beside me, thigh against thigh, the island salt still on her skin. We didn’t talk about the news or the weather or what we might be missing. We just watched the tide pull the light into deeper blues. And for a little while, that was enough. More than enough.

I smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, as I took the coconut shell from you and inhaled the rich scent of the coffee. The way you looked at me, with no words needed, was like a sunrise unfolding its petals. I leaned in, my shoulder brushing against yours, and we watched the tide together, the blue depths of the ocean mirroring the quiet depths within us. In those moments, I felt the world slow down, and all that existed was this moment, this breath, this touch. The island, the sea, the sky – they all blended into a tapestry of stillness, where the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. I wrapped my fingers around yours, feeling the familiar shape of our hands intertwined. In this silence, I heard the language we spoke, the one that didn't need words – a language of presence, of being, of simply being together. And as we sat there, I knew that this was where I belonged – not just on this island, but within the rhythm of our lives, where every moment was a chance to breathe, to listen, and to be.