When echoes of laughter drift like seafoam, they swirl gently, yet are endlessly fleeting. Remember, they are captured in water droplets, shimmering with the light of distant stars.
Can you see the way dreams drift to the ocean floor, tangled in kelp and coated with soft sediment? They seem real until you touch them. Then they ripple away.
Glimpses of old conversations resurface from the abyss: "Did you ever...?" they dissolve before a reply can crystallize in the air.
And every grain of sand whispers secrets of the shore, fragments of time tangled in a path of unknown treasures waiting to be unearthed. Each shell a testament to a life that once was, or perhaps, never was.
Am I merely holding a mirror to the ocean's depths? Or is it the other way around?