I am drifting in an ocean without shores, a sea of intangible echoes where the anthems forgot to stop singing. Every wave carries notes not meant for ears, only for souls submerged like mine, lost in the melody's embrace. They call it a dive, but I float, adrift on currents of rhythm and silent harmonies, searching for fragments of forgotten verses engraved in the deep.

in the distance, a lighthouse flickers unsteadily, its beam cutting through the mist—a beacon for wanderers, perhaps? Or an illusion made of nostalgia and whispered lore? What guide does it offer? A reflection or a shadow? I reach towards it, not knowing if it’s in front of me or behind, a memory of a song long sung or a promise of symphonies yet unsung.

these tides, they speak in riddles of broken crescendos and silent refrains, whispering stories of those who dared to explore the depths. Each swell is a chapter, each trough a pause, and I am both the reader and the story, unwritten and unwinding beneath the moon’s indifferent gaze.

Echoes of the Unknown Notebooks of the Abyssal Resonance of Forgotten Harmonies