In every gust that kisses the cliff's edge, I find you.
The winds carry stories, hauntingly familiar, of your laughter fragile against the distant roar of the sea.
These memories weave through the mist, tangled and unraveled, like ribbons tossed to the tide, only to be grasped by the wind's gentle hands and spun anew in the twilight.
The cliff remembers, as do I. Forgotten promises echo through alternating waves of remembrance and erasure—our footsteps marked in the sand, yet washed away by the wild embrace of the ocean.
Without you, the air tastes of salt and solitude, but with every breath, I find fragments of you—a whisper here, a touch there. Together they form a mosaic, intricate yet incomplete, like the unfinished symphonies of forgotten composers.
And so, here on the precipice, I stand. The earth beneath me trembles, not from fear, but from love—a passion as wild and unbound as the waves crashing below.
Recall the echoes or let them slip through your fingers, like grains of sand, into the depths of the unknown.