THE SALT LINE

The Salt Lines
 is a journalism project devoted to uncovering the quiet truths that live in people’s hearts—the ones rarely spoken, yet deeply felt. 
We tell the stories that linger, the ones rooted in memory, longing, and love. 
Through narrative journalism, we explore the raw beauty of life: the kind that leaves marks like salt lines on skin—evidence of tears, sweat, and ocean air.

Each story is an echo of a life lived, a love remembered, a truth finally voiced. The Salt Lines exists to honor those moments and preserve them, so they stay on this earth, where they belong.

Because everyone has a story. And every story matters.

Guitar Strums (2012)

Lana’s guitar strums cradle me softly to sleep,

like they did in the summer of 2012,

when I first believed in love stories we whispered in the dark.

You on the West Coast — Eugene, under soft Oregon skies.

Me, beneath the humming streets of New York,

two hearts stretched across time zones,

woven together by hope, by youth, by something unnamed.

I used to picture us:

standing on windswept beaches,

my hand gripping my sunhat as the wind tried to pull me from you,

into the cold blue of the ocean —

but I always imagined you’d hold me steady.

I promised I’d visit your hometown one day —

even now, older, part of me still believes.

Our little story never really faded,

just settled like dust on old vinyl.

But here I am, whispering my goodbyes

as the sun fades toward noon,

and Lana strums Brooklyn Baby for me one last time.

Da da da da da — yeah yeah yeah —

her chords hum what words can’t.

I know you loved me.

I did too.

I wished it could’ve been forever,

not just a moment caught between coasts.

But I loved you,

even as your secret.

Goodbye, amor.

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