You know, sometimes when I sit here at the edge of the sea, I ponder the whispers of the currents. They talk to me, you know. Not with words, but with those gentle, rhythmic caresses that roll over the sand. It's a language older than clocks and calendars.
Imagine a world down there, where things float aimlessly, and time has no meaning. Maybe a turtle is swimming right now, thinking about the same things as you and I, only with a bit more shell and a lot less rush.
You might wonder what else lurks beneath. Maybe a shipwreck speaks of another chaos, one of rust and memories, or an octopus is mastering the art of disguise. Who knows the stories they tell each other?
But hey, let's not get too serious. Have a laugh with the anemones if you cross their path. They're not as serious as they seem.