"The sea is calling," she said, her voice trailing off like a whisper in the wind. "The waves carry stories of forgotten dreams, looping endlessly."
There was a postcard, stained and creased, lying on the sand beneath the endless expanse. Each loop a reminder, each wave a memory.
"Again, I find myself here," he muttered, tracing the words with calloused fingers. "The sea is calling, again."
"Tick-tock, tick-tock," the clock cried in despair. "Time is a relentless loop, never pausing, always repeating."
Beneath the clock tower's shadow, the world seemed frozen. "Again, I stand here," she whispered, the echo of her voice mingling with the chimes.
"Tick-tock," went the clock, and with it, the heartbeat of an unseen rhythm. "Again and again," it cried.
"This path," he said, gazing into the mist, "it leads nowhere, yet everywhere. A road without an end, a beginning."
The signs were faded, their messages lost to time. "Again, I walk this road," she sighed, her footsteps echoing in the silence.
The journey was eternal, boundless as the horizon. "Again and again," they whispered, "until the end."