Imagine a world where the whispers curl like the mist over a silent sea, ebbing and flowing with the rhythm of the cosmos. It's a strange amalgamation of words, isn't it? Not unlike the way sand slips through fingers, each grain a story half-remembered, half-forgotten.
You might wonder about shadows cast by moons unseen, or perhaps you'll simply listen—listen to the whispers that beckon from the horizon. They're not always clear, and frankly, they don't need to be. It's about the journey, the spaces in between the notes of existence, that sing their own quiet symphony. Hear the echo or perhaps catch a tide somewhere in your mind.
Sometimes, late at night, the ocean whispers to me too. In dreams woven with silver threads, where nothing is as it seems, and everything is just so. Let those whispers guide you, whether in thought or in the pre-dawn light that filters through the curtains.