The sea has always whispered secrets in a language only the heart can understand. Each wave, a breath, carrying echoes of past summers – laughter intertwined with salt and sun, fading into a rhythmic prayer of tides. We ride these waves not on boards, but with memories etched in the sands of time.
I recall that afternoon, washed in golden light and laughter, where every grain of sand felt like time slipping between fingers. "Catch me if you can," she called, as the ocean breeze tangled with her hair, bringing with it the scent of adventure and longing. Steps tracked prints that would soon be erased, like moments we chase only to let time reclaim them.
It's easy to lose oneself amid these watery whispers, the delicate dance between memory and the present. And yet, it's here we find solace, in the repetitive rise and fall, a reminder that life, too, is cyclical — a series of ocean waves pulling away and returning, again and again. The ride is bittersweet, and perhaps that's what makes it beautiful.
Echoes of the Undertow | Tidepool Dreams