In the boundless expanse where the ocean meets the sky, whispers are reminiscent echoes of forgotten dreams. The tide carries these murmurs, ebbing and flowing with the silent breath of time. It speaks in a language ancient as the sand, complex as the patterns drawn by the stars upon the cosmos' canvas.
The dreams once vivid tether themselves to the human experience, woven into a tapestry of experiences and reflections. Each tide, a cycle, a promise of return, yet the dreams slip further with every wave.
Colossal shadows under crystalline waters, the remnants of long-fallen ships, speak stories not written by human hand. They beckon explorers of the unknown, luring them into the depths where reality blurs into myth.
It has been said that the winds carry the whispers east, to the shores of forgotten lands. To these places, one must follow the ancient path, strewn with the ruins of dreams once lived.
The night deepens, and the stars ignite the ocean's surface. Here, reality is but a whisper, and the tide knows all secrets of the soul's wanderings.
The remnants remain, lingering on the fringes of consciousness; shadows before the dawn that slips silently upon the waking world. The tide whispers still, forever entwined with the diaphanous veil of dreams.