When I was a child, the ocean was a storyteller. Each wave came with a tale, wispy like fog, vanishing just as it whispered. If you listened closely, you could hear the echoes of lives once lived beneath the water’s embrace, stories inscribed in the sand and waiting for the next tide to carry them away.
You remember how it is, right? A soft, salty breeze, the distant cries of seagulls, and the sound of your own heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the ocean. You can almost touch the wind, can’t you, brushing against the memories hidden deep within the rolling waves?
There's a secret the waves keep, a palimpsest of histories—old as time and tender as youth. Ghostly figures walk along the shoreline, their truths erased and rewritten by the passage of water over stone, leaving behind scars washed smooth.
Not everything is lost, though. Some echoes remain, stubborn and insistent, asking to be heard once again. "Listen," they implore. Hear the waves, they say. Listen long enough. You might just catch a glimpse of the unimaginable.
We all share a part in this symphony of soundscapes. Now and forever, we remember, we rewrite, we relive.