The tide whispers secrets, dragging fingers through grains of memory.
Each sigil left in sand speaks a language older than words, woven tales of solitude.
Along the shore, where waves murmur and gulls trace forgotten paths in the sky,
stories dwell in the shifting sands, hushed echoes of moments lost in time.
Did you see the mark of the pilgrim, etched deep in the sands?
Its meaning now cloaked in the fog of memory, yet it beckons with a familiar grace.
Walk with me through these whispers; let the tide carry our shadows
into the embrace of the stars, where every sigil is a wish sent adrift.
In the distance, a lighthouse beams—a guardian of dreams
woven into the fabric of night, where past and present intertwine.
Discover the echoes
Listen to the tide
Trace the constellations