The quiet hum of the coastal breeze carries stories untold. Each wave, a brushstroke against the canvas of the universe. Living off spontaneity, we navigate the palette of life's ever-changing colors.
Here, in the margins of existence, we leave impressions—doodles of our thoughts, sketches in the sand, fading whispers in the wind.
Sometimes I wonder, is beauty in the journey or the destination? We drift, colors blending into one another, finding stories along the roadside, fragments of dreams that mirror our own.
Perhaps, the joy lies in our transient insights, a dance with time itself.