There was a time when the tides spoke too loudly, their voices curling around the legs of the pier, drawing whispers from barnacled friends. The sea isn't just salty; it's filled with stories that break and recede like the gentle wash on untouched shores.
She stood at the edge, a lighthouse of sorts in a windbreaker and worn-out Hunter boots, waiting for the tide to unveil what the moon had hidden away. Every ebb, a secret. Every flow, an invitation. Have you listened closely enough?
The sea once told me about a clockwork fish...
It didn't swim so much as tick-tock with purpose. Bronze scales glimmering under a waning moon, its eyes were tiny lanterns, flickering with each pulse of the current. It told of underwater realms unseen by land-bound imaginations—cities of coral and anemones, where time flows differently and dreams are woven from kelp and seaweed silk.
The tides are routine, you might think. Predictable. But there are whispers among the shells—those ancient storytellers—about yawning depths and sirens forgotten by time. Listen, and you might hear the echo of an untold melody.