The ocean whispers in a language I almost understand. It sings beneath a blanket of stars, the same song every night. The tides murmur secrets, truths wrapped in kelp and longing. I think I know the melody, a crescendo of solitude and peace, but it always fades before I grasp its meaning. Above, the moon's glow, an ever-present witness to my nightly vigils. It leaves a trail on the water, an abyssal hue, deepening as the hours pass.
Somewhere in the depths, a creature stirs. It dreams of currents that once were, of colors that danced in the shallows. I sit here, a quiet observer, listening to the pulse of the sea. The abyssal hues call out, a lullaby of the forgotten. They wrap around me, pulling, yet soothing, a contradiction I have come to embrace. Each wave carries a whisper, a sigh of the deep, resonating with a truth I seek vainly.