Love - A Sea Breeze at Sunset

Love is a lot like a sea breeze—unpredictable, intoxicating, and impossible to hold onto. It sweeps in without warning, tousles your hair, fills your lungs with salt and possibility, then vanishes just as quickly, leaving you wondering if it was ever real at all. And like a sunset, it paints the sky in colors so vivid you swear they’ll last forever—until, of course, they don’t. 

The First Whisper of the Wind 

Love begins as a whisper, a faint stirring in the air before the full force of it hits you. It’s the glance across a crowded room, the accidental brush of fingers, the way their laughter sounds like waves breaking against the shore. You don’t see it coming, just as you never notice the exact moment the sky begins to blush at dusk. And then—suddenly—you’re in it. The breeze becomes a gust, the horizon ignites, and you are, for a moment, weightless. 

The High Tide of Passion 

When love is new, it feels like standing knee-deep in the ocean, letting each wave pull you further from shore. You don’t resist. Why would you? The water is warm, the current gentle, and the world beyond the shoreline fades into insignificance. This is the phase of stolen kisses and whispered promises, of sunsets so breathtaking you forget to take a picture because you’re too busy living inside them. 

But the sea is fickle. High tide never lasts. Sooner or later, the waves recede, and you’re left standing on damp sand, wondering if the ocean loved you back or if you were just another pebble it polished smooth before tossing aside. 

The Slow Fade of Dusk

Love, like a sunset, is fleeting by design. The most vibrant hues—the fiery oranges, the molten golds—are the first to disappear. What remains is softer, quieter: the pale purples of companionship, the deep blues of understanding. Some people mistake this fading for the end, not realizing that twilight has its own kind of magic. 

But not all loves are meant to linger. Some are like summer storms—brief, dazzling, gone before you’ve dried off. Others are like the slow dimming of winter light, so gradual you barely notice until one day you look up and realize the sky is dark. 

The Afterglow

Even when love ends, it leaves something behind—a warmth, a scent, a memory that clings like salt on your skin. You might stand on the shore years later, breathing in the wind, and for a second, you’ll swear you catch a trace of them in the air. Or you’ll see a sunset that stops you mid-step, and your heart will ache in a way that’s not entirely pain. 

Because love, like the sea and the sky, is never truly gone. It changes. It moves. It becomes part of you. And maybe that’s enough. 

So let it in. Let it rush over you like a tide. Let it color your world, even if just for a little while. 

After all, the best sunsets are the ones you almost missed.