The waves shift and murmur, speaks a language unheard in daylight, dips under, a pulse reading: Everything's connected, you know, but when did we ever console ourselves with knowing?
Muffled once...
As I wander alien shores:
The horizon tasted blue, like melancholy recorded in seashells, each echo a fragment of ephemeral dreams...
Lost transmissions from the deep, the kind that mark the unwritten constellations across barren skies, the call-and-response of untamed ether.
Coded whispers tangled in twilight's embrace, awaiting the clarity known only to the waking tides.
Once upon an undiscovered shore, perceptions whispered into existence: "The tide holds secrets of voices past."
Antennae stretching across the cosmic abyss searching for resonance. We walk these shores blind to the ancients' view.