A whisper of salt kissed the air. Breaths translated into silence after dark, and one could barely tell where tides ended and echoes began.
The cycle was ceaseless. Each wave a rhythm, each rhythm a note misunderstood in the symphony of existence.
"Remember?" a voice from yesterday, from long ago, from ahead. The trees captured wind-throwned words on leaves' fingertips.
Time curled back upon itself, a perfect bow with edges unfurling like a labyrinth, whispering eulogies for autumns yet unseen.
Up above, beyond our reach, stars duplicate stories we've never lived.
The seam of night stitched together shadow and silverlight; a lonely streetlamp stood witness at the crossroad of uncertainty.
Often, the echoes split open, revealing hearts hidden within the sinew—a shining truth demonstrated by mere aroma.