Docked in time

A boat rests upon the shore, its wooden hull worn by tides and years, holding the salt of countless journeys. The sand cradles it like a relic of a place that breathes in memories. I was born by the Red Sea, in Jeddah. A city where the ocean is more than water; it is a pulse beneath the streets. A scent in the wind. A constant in the soul. Here, under the burnished weight of the sun, the boat waits. Not abandoned, not forgotten — simply paused between stories, a silent witness to the ebb of time, like the weathered walls and vanished voices that linger in the forgotten cities of my mind.