Seeking Horizons

The gentle lapping of waves or the distant hum of forgotten motors, echoes of histories washed ashore.

Retired newspapers gather dust under a bench, indistinguishable yet carrying messages of another time:

Letters addressed to nowhere linger with intent, penned by hands now distances apart. A sailor's notebook:

"Wind carries whispers, lost fishermen hoping to rediscover shores they once knew. Among the driftwood, their dreams lay scattering across the cosmos."

As we recall, the salt air curls our thoughts spiraling back to fleeting travels through rusted conditions. Consider what bubbles to the surface:

• The battered anchor, waiting silently.
• Task lists for tomorrow that vanished with last week's tide.
• Sketches of unmarked boats, forever adrift.

The glass shards glisten like stars on a murky night; we collect our reflections only to scatter them again.