Do the tides belong more to the moon than to the surrounding sea, a whispered lie in reflections dulled by sunlight’s haste? Perhaps we too, caught in orbit around invisible powers, ludicrously claim independence from the celestial dance.
Mirrors distort truth, here beneath the uncanny shoreline where eyes see not the depths but the surface, sparkling. Is the sea saltier from the moon’s tears or do our own silent sorrows seep into the brine? Ponder an epoch unheard.
As the night cools, every wave whispers a secret dream, esoteric and elusive like comfort in lingering shadows. Do we learn only from the waves gently erasing our image from the sand again and again?