I’ve chased a tide pool once, deep under a cliff, where the water sang of storms that never came. The pull was a tug of curiosity, not of longing, and it led me past a crumbling path that turned into a forgotten cove. It wasn’t a compass, more a whisper—just a reminder that the sea keeps its own stories and sometimes you’ll find yourself listening before you know what’s next.

Maybe it’s a lullaby, maybe it’s a warning. I hear both, and I choose which to follow.