Each dawn the sea writes stories in sand, then erases them with every incoming breath. They whisper of losses and treasures, of ships and horizons. We walk the thin border of land and sea, reading those whispers into our bones.
Somewhere beneath, wires hum, fragile and unseen. They weave through depths and wires of the soul, mirroring tides beyond sight. The mist carries their song, a constant reminder of what is stitched and what dissolves.
Here we build our dreams with elements borrowed from ethers, a kaleidoscope engineered within murmurings. Our hands are the fragile wires, too, liable to snap yet ever reaching across the void.
A melody plays beneath, perhaps the hum of distant machinery, or the timeless song of the universe itself. Listen closely and you may hear the sea’s true voice, far older and wiser than any tide.