The tide pulls back, gathering secrets whispered by waves. The shore listens, but the answers are carved in water—a language fluent in silence.
There’s a journey in every retreat, an unseen path revealed beneath the foam. Each step upon the sand, an echo of yesterday, scripted not by man but by the moon's gentle tug.
Horizon meets sky in a line we chase but never reach. Sylvia used to say it's the promise of tomorrow that keeps us moving, even when we seem to stand still.
Silent echoes from the water line turn voices into memories. We gather them, like small seashells—some whisper louder than others.
The rhythm of the sea has its own heartbeat, a constant reminder of journeys unbeknownst yet familiar. In another time, another place, perhaps we were destined to sail these waters, to hear these echoes firsthand.