SUMMER JOURNAL, : the surfer’s hour.

Woke up early today — the air still smelled like salt and sunscreen. Grabbed my board, walked barefoot through the small path behind the cabins. The sand was cold at first, but it felt like home.

I paddled out and let the sound of the waves drown everything else. No thoughts, no noise — just rhythm.

The morning air tasted like salt and quiet sunlight. I carried my board down the wooden path, the sea already awake before I was. Waves rolled in with a rhythm that felt familiar, like a song I used to know.

When I came back to shore, my footprints disappeared as fast as I made them. I sat on the sand for a while, listening to nothing but the waves. Maybe that’s the thing about summer — it doesn’t promise anything, but it gives you everything for a moment.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ENTWINE I. : ocean sky stitched by radiant vitality, yet they break into violet when he glided against the current state.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
           MID-SUMMER｜WEALTH, 18's.
sun melts into cerulean infinity, and he emerges as young man with effortless allure. many sculpted by tide (&.) light. his board vessel of wood and resin, an extension of sinew and soul.

ㅤㅤㅤ｜.. yet, he carving a symphonies
ㅤㅤㅤ｜.. upon the ocean’s blank canvas.  

[79/8] sea greets with both grace and ferocity, the waves unfurls like living psalms, they foaming with ecstasy-ruin.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
“CRESCENDO-ASCEND“ LIT, 28/9. WITNESS SEAFOAM.

upon a moving stage, his flat board became his great companion. tan-body bends with instinct, the golden rays scatter upon his bronzed skin. while droplets trace along his sharp shoulders.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 🏄🏽ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ