"Do you hear it?" she leans in, pulling the shell closer to her ear. It's more than just the soft crashing of the waves, it's the pulse of the ocean itself, whispering secrets of bygone summers. Is it truly the sea, or just echoes caught between the whirlpools of time?
With each breath, the rhythm of the tides sings a new lullaby. The world outside fades, the salty breeze a distant memory. Inside this shell, where moonlight dances and the stars weave stories, there exists a sanctuary. "You should try it," she urges, handing the shell like a fragile gift.
There's a notion that dreams carved in sea foam linger longer. They twist in currents, spellbound, until someone finds them again. Wouldn't it be nice to hide a wish inside, to roll it tight and tuck it between sea grasses, waiting for the tide to sweep it away to distant shores?
Turn the shell this way, that way. Listen, listen close. Do you trust it to carry your whisper?
Oceanic Reverie