In the depths of the void, out of earshot of the bustling world, a solitary frequency flickers. It whispers tales of an empty horizon, where waves meet sky in a seamless embrace, and the air is thick with untold stories.
Reception is poor, yet it hums with a gentle persistence, A tapestry of silence woven with threads of memory. Anchored in the past, the signal carries remnants of laughter, embers of forgotten conversations, and echoes of footsteps in sand.
The transmission ruptures, static fills the space like a blanket of snow, muffling all but the faintest hints of the original voice. Fragments emerge—"the leaves turned," "the solitude," "time drifts like a cloud." Each phrase a ghost of meaning, haunting the listener.
As the connection wanes, another voice breaks through, unexpected and strange, "Are you there?" It lingers in the atmosphere, a question unanswered, an invitation to voyage beyond familiar shores. The reply is unspoken, absorbed by the endless sea.