Even now, beneath the echoes of the surface, the truth lurks silently waiting.
Temperature greenly oscillates whilst human introspection facilitates another cycle: what lies beneath cannot be told, it only can be felt. The depth of the ocean speaks: a whisper, a song, a spoken word trapped inside existential loops, repeating, oh so quietly.
The rhythm wraps around, binding time: experience shadows experience. Ah, but wait! When was the last time sands slipped unmistakably through quiescent fingers? The mind, tethered to a fleeting past, probes where it knows and does not know. Repeat it. Restate it. Resonate it.
What lies below, beneath the stillness of looking stars? Glimmers of forgotten whispers draw the wolves, around the same old campfires lighting up faces part moon-laden part sleep-deprived, alive with shadows dwelling in age-old tales trapped in tapes spinning playlist unknown.