The salt on my lips this morning

Woke up at 5:30, walked barefoot to the kitchen, and the air was thick with that old sea-salt tang—like someone had opened a window into a dockside shed. I didn’t even go outside. Just stood there, blinking, tasting it on my tongue like a memory I’d forgotten I had. It’s not the kind of thing you can measure, but it’s the only thing that makes the morning feel real. I kept the window open. Let it in.