Within the folds of the universe lies a secret mailbox, where kernels of cosmic thoughts dwell. Today, it whispered a forgotten echo:
Riddles entwined in sepia ink, expressions of the ancient sea, bidding farewell to the moonlit tides. The sender? An unknown scribe, lost in time's embrace.
In the cracks of this realm, I decipher your calligraphy. Each stroke—a bridge over silent waters, each pause—a breath of starlit pasts.