Wave crashed. Silence echoed.
The stage: vast, blue, endless.
Every script drenched before act one.
Fish 1: "Do you know this part?"
Fish 2: "I think we're the prop... or the punchline."
Clownfish looked for an opening.
Ships passed like thoughts:
half-formed, fleeting, echoing vulnerability.
Reflect. Don't reflect. Dive. Surface.
Timeless. Vault unattainable.