Paper Wind

She didn’t come to the shore to be seen. She came to let go, of names, of weight, of the tools she once used to hold herself together. The black balloons weren’t decoration. They were the last things she couldn’t say. Each one tugged at her fingers like a memory trying to escape. The wind knew her better than anyone. It wrapped around her hair, her scarf, her silence. And as the sea watched without judgment, she stood still, a girl stitched from wind and longing, waiting for the sky to carry what she no longer could.