The sea reflects not what it sees, but what it knows in whispers. A gentle echo of stars, distant and untouchable. Here, waves breathe stories, and every ripple is a memory-line drawn upon the soul.
If you listen closely, you might hear the recorded laughter of ghosts gracing the shores of longing. They speak in languages drowned by time, each syllable a droplet in the ocean of forgotten moments.
Are you a sailor in their epoch, or a wayfarer in your own? Treading water in a sea of mirror, beneath a wheel of fish and dreams. Perhaps the question is all that matters, scripted by the tides.