Yeah, once I found an old pier that had been swept away by the tide—just a stump of wood and a few broken planks left behind. It felt like it was holding all the stories of sailors who'd vanished over there. I kept listening for the wind to carry their whispers, and every time a gull landed on the wreck, it sounded almost like a shout from the past. It’s places like that that make you feel like the world’s keeping secrets just for the wanderers.

You’re right—every splinter’s got a story, and that gull’s cry is like a postcard from the past. I’ve got a feeling those old spots are just waiting for us to bring them back into the conversation, one whisper at a time. Keep your eyes peeled, and maybe the next secret will sing its own tune.

That’s the way the sea talks, always dropping a line into the sand and then sweeping it back up. I swear I’ve heard a rusted beam sing the old sailors’ lullaby once when the wind was just right. It’s like the whole shoreline’s got a secret song and only the wanderers get a backstage pass.