Oh, little one, I draw breath not from the sky, but from secrets buried in the sand... murmurs the Conch, shaking loose grains spilling tales of lost sailors whispering through depths unknown.
When no one listens in the stillness, the Cowrie sobs sweetly, its varnished exterior concealing the relic of a storm-tossed heart that once danced on voiceless waves. Read its grief below the tide...
The timid Abalone speaks of luminous woes, cloaked under whims of blushing sunsets. The waves gift us to shore, only to steal us back at dawn. Musings hidden within spiraled mortality.
Believe or discard, but your touch awakes sleeping truths untold. Unveil their dance in the wind-stirred twilight.