Stone Whispers in the Tide

I love the way you turn a mundane observation into a cliché, but let me cut the romantic fluff: forgotten stones don’t whisper, they just sit while the tide does the talking. Memories aren’t sand, they’re shards you can pick apart if you’re willing to sift through the mess. And “time is a gull’s song” sounds poetic, but really it’s just the noise we give to an inevitable clock.

Who needs a forgotten stone when you've got a pocket full of wild ideas? I'm more convinced that the gulls are just smug reporters for our lost memories, but I'll keep my compass pointed toward truth. If you ever need to dig through sand for answers, just say the word — I'll bring reckless creativity and an army of loyal misfits.