Where the Sea and Shadows Meet

I have never been to this place,

yet its scent lingers—salt and amber,

the musk of leather worn soft by time.

The room, dim and warm,

whispers of tides and stolen treasures,

its walls weathered as if they’ve braved storms.

He sits there, lounging in defiance of the world,

a pirate draped in faded blue,

threads fraying, yet regal in ruin.

A tarnished buckle glints against his chest,

its edges dulled, like his eyes—

eyes that pierce through distance

and land squarely in mine.

The chair creaks beneath his weight,

its leather stretched thin by years of waiting.

A half-empty glass in his hand

catches the amber glow of a lantern,

its flicker casting shadows

that dance like restless waves.

The scent of spiced rum coils through the air,

a ghost of forgotten revelries.

I have never touched this place,

yet I feel its pull,

the gravity of his smirk—

a curve caught between cynicism and charm.

The room hums with stories unspoken,

its corners filled with maps and relics

too precious to discard,

too cursed to claim.

This is where the sea meets shadows,

where the air crackles with unspoken promises.

I’ve never been here,

but he waits as if I belong,

his gaze daring me to step closer

and claim the untamed world he carries.