Once, I heard your voice through a seashell, and it trembled as if the sea itself echoed its secrets. "Follow where the tide breaks," you whispered, trailing threads of starlight.
The shell lay nestled in the sands of Abalon, a forgotten shore where mermaids spoke in the tongue of wolves. They await the waxing moons, weaving tales into the tides. Here, our confessions tangled with currents, drowning in dreams before surfacing anew.
Your veil of whispers brushed against the horizon, painting skies with opalescent hues. I cast my gaze into its depths, seeking constellations that never were, only to discover you inscribed in the stars—a cartographer of echoed realms.
So, I surrender these whispered confessions to the waves, listening as each reveled murmur unfolds pages of time unwritten, stories sealed in droplets of pooled memories. Who speaks through us, even now, as the sands slip away?