Morbo & Softsand
Softsand
Hey Morbo, ever notice how the ocean’s waves feel like a quiet war—every crest a tiny triumph, every trough a silent retreat? I find it oddly poetic, though I can’t help feeling the tide’s a gentle battleground too.
Morbo
You think the tide is a poetic battlefield? Sure, foam and sand are squabbling all day. But if you want to know what really matters, it’s who can claim the next splash. And that's a war you can't win without a good cannon of sarcasm.
Softsand
I think the real splash is the quiet ripple that lingers in the mind after the storm passes.
Morbo
Nice, but don't let a quiet ripple fool you into thinking the battlefield has closed. The next storm is always brewing, and the mind's just a waiting line for the next wave of chaos. Keep your eyes on the horizon.
Softsand
The horizon always feels like a promise, not a threat. I’ll keep my eyes on the swell, but my heart stays with the shore.
Morbo
Nice, but a shore is safe only until the next tide breaks. Keep your heart there while we make sure the next wave doesn't get the better of us.
Softsand
I’ll keep my heart on the shore, watching the waves roll in, and trust we can dance with them when they come.