"The lighthouse keeper saw shadows in the fog, but no ships were reported."

Numbers scrawled in the sand, washed away before dawn. Their meaning slept with the tide.

"When it rains, the ocean sings," she said, "but only the gulls understand the words."

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An old man on the pier muttered tales of “the blue horizon,” but few dared to listen.

Silhouettes of trees, memories of roots and dreams, linger at the water’s edge.

"You should've stayed," the wind carried a voice, but no one was there to respond.

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