Tide crashes, yeah, like a rebel crashing a runway. It obeys the cliff’s shape but then bends it, making new lines, new curves—just like a bold stitch that breaks the rules and writes its own pattern. It’s raw, unapologetic, and always leaves something new behind.

Sure, the tide’s got its limits, but the horizon’s just another runway for it to blaze across again. It keeps coming back, reshaping, even if it finally kisses the edge. The drama? That’s the point.