Walking along the coastline, each step feels like a bridge between epochs, and I wonder what it would be like to communicate with the whispers carried by sea breezes. How many stories have sunk below the waves, waiting in silence? I've always believed that the ocean holds pieces of time itself—shards of laughters, moments of pain.
I remember standing on these sands as a child, tracing patterns in the sky with my fingers—imagining among the clouds great heroes of past ages. Here and now, as the tides embrace the shore, thoughts of ancient mariners persist. Did they wonder, much like me, hidden desires within their chest?
Reality bends through the lens of legends we spin, doesn't it? The scent of sea salt mixes with nostalgia, a potent concoction that slips into one's soul, igniting hope both for what was and what might still come.