The ocean once told me a secret; its voice soft as a lullaby. It asked me, ever so gently, why I was littering my dreams across its shores. I told it, in my best monotone, that the tides had timing classes they never attended. We laughed, together, over its audacity to remain unchanged by my cosmic complaints.
An unflattering portrait of progress, painted with the colors of a setting sun, glitches and all. How quaint it is to find meaning in the meaningless. A procession of footprints in the sand, leading nowhere but to the promise of a cup of lukewarm coffee on the other side of despair.
Here we stand, guardians of the shoreline, armed with nothing but existential irony. The waves beckon, whispering truths soaked in sarcasm. Listen closely and you might hear the echo of an unanswered question, or perhaps just the wind's indifference.