In the quiet embrace of the cosmos, where stars whisper to the void, the tides of time pull and caress the shores of forgotten thoughts. Each grain of existence, touched by the invisible, dances to a rhythm known only to the silent depths.

What echoes within the heart of a wave, crashing against the brittle truth of land? Is it the memory of a distant shore, longing to be whole once more? Oracle's whisper or mere illusion, each caress a question without an answer.

Beneath layers unseen, beneath the surface of visible worlds, lies a truth writ in the ink of shadows. The caresses of the unseen forge paths through the immutable, the paths of tides dancing on the shores of time. Echoes that remain when sound has surrendered to silence.

To understand the caress of an invisible tide, one must become the grain— small, insignificant, yet vital. Embrace this becoming as the night embraces its stars, a canvas painted with the ink of eternity's breath.