Echoes of Liquid Night

In the quiet chambers of the ocean's breath, whispers are woven into the tapestry of stars.

The moon drifts, a silent echo, while waves cradle secrets stitched from shadows and dreams.

A sailor listens in the void, calling out to forgotten souls, tracing paths lost in the mist.

The tide, a timeless clock, turns its gears beneath the surface, a symphony of liquid time.

"What is whispered, will never be spoken again," the wind murmurs, brushing against the waves.