Isn't it funny how the waves look like echoes of a forgotten tune? You turn the dial, but the sound stays the same.
Sometimes, I hear whispers in the breeze, secrets carried from distant lands. Turn left. Tune into the silence. Listen.
Do you remember the summer when ice cream never melted? The horizon was a mirage, a shimmering illusion. We were invincible.
When was the last time you saw a purple sky? Not from a painting, but real, hanging over the world like a soft apology.
Waves Reverie Obscure Horizons Distant Echo