Some nights, the sea holds the world in its palm, cradling stars in its depths. Here, on this edge of reality, whispers fade into the rhythm of waves, gentle stories that seek unmarked shores.
Time drips, much like the endless tides. Every moment a droplet, each memory a constellation forming transient shapes in a sky shared with dawn.
There's a trust in the echo—a promise of something more, something unseen, woven into the coarse strands of sand and foam. It murmurs in secrets, cradled inside shells, waiting for ears willing to listen.
The past like midnight seas: dark, uncharted, beautiful in its stillness under a watchful moon. Comforting. As I lay here, I gather little fragments; perhaps they're disjointed, perhaps they're us. Or you.
Find the cave whispers