You weren’t meant to be tamed.
You were meant to be carried by wind and scarred by salt—
—to be broken open by waves and stitched back together by time.
Not polished. Not pretty. But honest.
There’s a stretch of coast no one speaks of.
Not because it’s forgotten—
But because it remembers too well.
Footsteps disappear in the sand like they never happened.
Secrets sink. But the sea doesn’t give them back.
This is where the brine bites and the birch bleeds pale into the fog.
Where you light a flame not for warmth…
but to mark your place in the dark.
Brine & Birch doesn’t ask permission.
It wraps around you like a cloak soaked in sea-smoke,
reminding your skin that it once belonged to something wild.
To driftwood. To wind. To ruin made holy.
Light it when the storm breaks.
When your hands shake and your heart needs anchoring.
When you don’t want comfort—you want truth.
Hard, cold, and salt-rimmed.
And when the scent clings to your clothes,
when the smoke settles into your ribs, you’ll know:
You survived the wreck.
And you’re still seaworthy.
