You think you hear them first—a whisper of foam cascading against secrets etched long into brittle stone. Somewhere in the depths lies a revelation, wrapped tenderly beneath sands abandoned by fleeting tides. Eagerly, your heart drums against these siren’s echoes, a chorus left unsung until today's washed destiny.
We stand atop moments like salt-stung spectators, eager to dive beneath, to plunder acoustic pleasures lying beneath layers of sand and seaweed. Listen. Just breathe again and let it align—the hidden resonance you knew, always, is there, waiting as murmurs etched in known primal wisdom.
The sea is alive with frail utterances, an endless poetry of oceanic tongues speaking of things unseen. Can’t you see them? Can’t you hear how they churn and murmur thoughts incomplete yet so sweetly potent to understand—a reckless swirl of life in its rawest potential, magnifying the mundane into mystical?