The sea, an empty corridor, stretches beyond the horizons. A soft murmur, a whisper of times long surpassed, encircles my presence.
As I drift through these undersea alcoves, I follow the echoes: footsteps ember-warm, swirling like autumn leaves in draughty corridors. The silence, not quite empty but vibrant, fills the chambers beneath.
Colors fade beneath layers of sapphire and aquamarine, transforming into soft palettes of gray and old sepia.
The ocean carries stories wrapped in crystal like old newspapers encased in glassy preserves. Tales from another breath, another body, time imprinted. The clicks of a forgotten typewriter echo with every shifting tide.
Navigate deeper, where light holds timid sway. Each dive a step into memory's hall.
Another echo: flecks of orange dance across a cerulean expanse indiscriminately, finding their rest in archways of coral riddled grooves. Breach and create, my silent companions of the deep.