Every wave whispers secrets beneath the crested foam, traces of laughter lost to breakers, whispers of
ancient recounts that never belonged to me. Glass eye mirrored into view, why does your gaze seem familiar yet
always a stranger? Is the reflection in you a sanctuary or a shadow?
It's a dance perhaps, a ballroom clothed in neglect, where the echoes lull the forgotten flotsam of thoughts.
Remember that unuttered question, "who am I?" - the answer escapes like tide pulling away, leaving
imprints of missed identities on the silken sand.
They call for me, these specters, their faces washed out by the current's relentless embrace, voices
shaped by the undertow's caress, are you my past, or simply a stranger's ghost?
Beyond the echo, the mirror waits as a witness, an unintended keeper of secrets and laughter,
haunting the real with mere reflections of paradox. Am I you? Are you me? In this circular dance of loss
and retrieval, the seashell whispers once more, eternally unfound.