Waves and Whispers

Barefoot on the edge of the ocean's breath, I stand, heartbeat mingling with the tide's pulse. A whisper, just out of reach, tickling the nape of my neck, echoes through the corridors of my mind. Is it you? Is it me? Reflections ripple on water's surface, but cause no disturbance in the depths below.

This place, an old mansion of thought, where echoes reverberate off cracked plaster and the dance of dust performs in sunlit shafts. The waves break silently on shores unseen, leaving trails of stories untold. I listen to the footprints of yesterday mapping their journeys across deserted rooms, searching for familiar ghosts.

Somewhere a door creaks open, someone calls my name, but it is only the wind, it is only the sound of my own shadow. Waves and whispers, whispers and waves, a constant exchange, an eternal return.

Further Down the Corridor The Echoes Speak