Driftwood thoughts scatter like ghosts along the coral paths of the ancient sea. Beneath the whispering blue, a sailor's heart murmurs secrets to the tides—a forgotten rhythm that knows no shore. Echoes cling to his skin, the embrace of salt and memory intertwining under a sunless sky.
Through the corridors of underwater dreams, the ocean hums a balm of melancholy. Each wave a sigh, each bubble a jest in the face of time. The sailor walks where the current leads, guided by currents of nostalgia in a realm of muted hues.
Shadows ripple, embracing the light with a sly grin. A voice, not from the world above, calls him by name—"lost traveler," it whispers, "here are the pieces of your past, trinkets lost overboard into the deep's lair." Memory reigns in the aqueous palace, unconstrained by the logic of man.