The sun remembered her

She married the tide, not knowing its moods,

A shoreline heart with hopeful hues.

At first, the waves sang silver songs,

Soft as vows, where she belonged.

But seas can turn, and waters rise,

Salted words stung her open eyes.

Each crashing wave erased her name,

Until her worth felt washed in shame.

Her beauty once bloomed like morning foam,

Now drowned beneath a broken home.

The mirror learned his cruel refrain,

And taught her face to wear his pain.

He spoke like storms that bruise the shore,

Calling her less, and then much more—

Much more wrong than she could be,

Until she feared her own reflection’s plea.

The sea kept taking, grain by grain,

Her laughter, light, her private flame.

She felt reshaped by salted truth,

An “ugly” word stolen from her youth.

One night she listened past the roar,

Heard something gentle ask for more.

Not from the sea that chewed her bones,

But from a warmth she’d always known.

She ran at dawn, bare feet in sand,

Left broken shells in yesterday’s hand.

She did not look back at the tide,

Nor count the tears the ocean cried.

The sun received her, slow and kind,

Gold stitching warmth into her spine.

It named her whole, it named her enough,

It kissed her scars and called them love.

Where waves once stripped her of her grace,

The sunlight traced her truest face.

No longer drowned, no longer small,

She rose—no sea could claim her all.

And in that light, she learned at last:

What water took was never hers to cast.

Her value lived beyond the tide,

Waiting for the sun—where she survived. ☀️