I catch glimpses of what was, nestled in the folds of distant memory. Shadows dance upon the dunes, silently narrating tales of yore, painted in muted colors, whispers lost in the salt-kissed breeze.
Once, the sound of laughter mingled with the occasional clap of waves. Now only echoes remain, ghosts of conversations strewn across time like grains waiting to be collected, touched, yet forever out of reach.
Through the haze of dusk, a haunting melody plays, soft and melancholic. I trace my steps back to where we stood, half-formed figures in the twilight, forever poised at the edge of an embrace unfulfilled.
How the endless horizon whispers promises it cannot keep, and the sand tells stories it never remembers once dawn breaks anew.
Reach forward into the grain or let slip as you were.