Deep in the fathoms, where light dares not go, the murmurs of the departed dance like shadows. Have you ever felt the touch of water so still, it spoke to you of lost things? Like a ghostly melody, carried on a whispering current?
“What do you think the octopus knows?” a voice lingered as I waded through thoughts, tendrils of ink wafting to heavens above. It might know of loneliness, or its countless arms tangled in tales untold.
There’s a pulse, would you believe? A measured heartbeat beneath the currents; it tells us secrets through the seabed’s soft caress. Listen closely, for the waves carry the yearning of souls once vibrant.
They often say, “Gaze into the abyss, and it gazes back.” Yet what if the abyss is simply a mirror, reflecting our own echoes? A questioning orb of memories, threading the past into the present.