In the interstice, where land surrenders its solid edges to the fluid embrace of the ocean, lies a village once forgotten by time, its existence woven into the muted tapestry of fog and whispered legends.
The villagers, descendants of those who first heard the ocean's murmurs, speak in hushed tones of the sea's breath — a constellation of voices carried by the winds, yearning to be understood, to be remembered, as they echo the tales of forgotten mariners and the eternal dance of the waves.
Here, on this precipice where the world meets the vast, uncharted horizon, I found myself drawn into the embrace of the sea's whisper, its voice a soft caress against my skin, a symphony of sighs and secrets, unraveling stories of joy and sorrow that transcended the boundaries of time and place.
As I stood upon the weathered stones, the tide lapping at my feet, the whispers grew clearer, weaving through the labyrinth of my thoughts, binding the ephemeral with the eternal. Shadows of ships long sunk beneath the cerulean depths beckoned to me, their silhouettes outlined in the shimmering veil of the sea.
Do you hear it too?