Across an indigo sea, the whispers slither past the edges of thought, tracing faint outlines against the mist of memory. A lost vessel, eternally adrift, in search of shores unseen and forgotten.
The lighthouse, a flickering sentinel, calls with a voice long turned to echoes. Did it guide you once, or was that another lifetime, painted in the glow of distant stars?
The signals fade, interspersed with static breaths and gentle tremors of time. They speak of journeys made and unmade, of dreams anchored in the sands of yesterday.
Perhaps the voyage was never yours. Perhaps it belongs to the ghosts of feasts once held, beneath a sky strewn with the memories of forgotten constellations.