In the folds of the midnight tide, whispers float like forgotten memories. Beneath the cerulean curtain, an errant wave sculpts castles of mist, every grain an echo of a dream. What wanderer murmurs in the depths?
Beyond the horizon's embrace, the horizon itself weeps, a silent cascade of jewel-toned echoes, mourning the stars that slip through its grasp. Gravity wells of emotion, pulling thoughts into the abyss.
A lone seagull, painted in hues of lavender dusk, rides the invisible currents. It knows not where it flies, a wayward soul in the expanse of blue eternity. Does it remember land, or is the sky its home?
Myriad Horizons Whispered Tides Stray Embers