Arjita Biswas

Salt.

Salt. Salt is salty, and salt is sad. My tears taste of it, bitter as they roll down my cheeks, tracing lines that vanish on my lips. It lingers, faintly burning, a reminder of something deeper—a sadness I can’t seem to shake. I wonder why I taste it so often, why this salt comes back again and again, a constant guest in my life. But maybe I already know.