In the distance, where the horizon kisses the sky, the echoes of forgotten truths linger like shadows upon water. We often seek solace in the depths of silence, but find instead the cacophony of our own longings unspoken. Each ripple in the fabric of thought disturbs the stillness, reaching out to touch the unknown.
Within these introspective waves, one may hear the whisper of time, a gentle reminder of the transient nature of existence. Seashells tell stories etched in sand, fragments of seas embracing shores unseen. To listen to a shell is to understand the eternity within a moment, the universe contained in quiet simplicity.
When do these ripples cease? Or begin again anew? The cycle of thoughts, like tides driven by celestial dances, ebbs and flows leaving traces on the sands of memory. Perhaps the truth lies in the acceptance of this perpetual state of becoming, an embrace of the void that fills us with a sense of wholeness.
Follow the Echo Catch the Whisper Trace the Driftwood