In the quiet hours when the moon reigns, the waves sing. Not with melody, but with whispers of an elusive truth, dancing under the pale moonlight. Each crest glows faintly, a shimmer of bioluminescent hues, narrating tales of depths unexplored.
Currents swirl beneath, unseen forces pulling and pushing in a ballet only the ocean knows. The water seems alive, more than H2O, a world teeming with bioluminescence, a secret that it keeps locked away in its unfathomable heart.
As I walk along the shore, the glow beneath my feet flickers like a thousand distant stars, buried in sand, waiting to be wished upon. I stop, entranced by the ceaseless rhythm, the tide's voice growing clearer with each passing moment. Echoes of a reality that feels almost tangible, almost real, yet slips between my fingers like grains of time.
The elusiveness of it all, as if the waves were a doorway, waiting for someone brave enough to step through into realms uncharted. And here, under the watch of the moon, I dream of those waves.