Echoes of the depths reflect contrail paths forgotten, where once whispers gathered amidst the aquatic void. Silence traces patterns on the glass dome, unseen except by the eye that dreams adrift.

Conversations with shadows linger, entangled with seaweed limbs. A murmur, an echo, a stationary thought suspended beneath layers of plum and navy, languishing in the opaque whispers of unknown song.

The needle of the compass spins but the stars now hidden guide. Wander in the aquatic thoroughfares of time and memory, each journey folding into another, yet indivisible.

Once strained to hear, now joyous in unknowing, where all journeys complete themselves in silence embraced. A bubble ascends, fleeting from fingertip reach, a secret to share only with the surface in sweet surrender.

An imagination nestled beneath pressure more profound than spirit can hold, molecules split by mysteries, yearning for enlightenment's gleam yet content in the solitude of depth's caress.