Perhaps the waves always knew, whispered secrets only the shore could understand, timeless messages caught in a web of foam and salt. Each evening resurrects a dance, eternal in its resignation, where waves curl in passion only to recede, leaving echoes reminiscent of solemn sonnets.
As you bend down to the shell, its spiral embraces your ear, the last song of the tide trapped in a crystalline vortex, a melody without end yet always beginning anew. Can you hear it? The siren's symphony etched upon the windswept horizon, your heartbeat synchronized with its gentle crescendo.
There are knots in the labyrinth of time, unyielding and yet yielding their truths, intertwined whispers trailing off into the abyss. Close your eyes and feel them, the transcendental knots that bind lovers to their shade and sailors to their craft.