Between Tides

There is a place the ocean does not fully claim, and the land does not fully keep. The boat rests there—neither arrived nor departed—held in the soft hesitation between two certainties that never quite touch. The tide has already spoken, but it has not yet decided what to take back with it.

In this space, time loosens its grip. Nothing is moving forward, yet nothing is still. The air feels like a pause in thought, like something important has just been remembered but not yet said aloud. The boat becomes less an object and more a witness to this in-between language of water and shore.

It is here, between tides, that everything meaningful seems to wait before becoming a decision.