O sea of all time, first cradle of breath and bone, your voice sings through us— a song from when we were scales, gilled and glittering, dancing in your moonlit depths, our bodies silver threads of foam and memory woven with seaweed.
We once called you home, our mother and secret bride, salt still on our tongues, our hearts pulled by your rhythm, like tide and moon drawn in that old sacred duet too deep to forget.
The tales call us land— but what is earth but a pause from your lullabies? You who swallow ancient wrecks and sing to ruins like a widow who still waits with hair full of pearls, we grieve with you every night as you breathe in waves.
Perhaps we all hear your voice when the gulls cry out, or when stars reflect— perhaps our urge to return is your whispered name calling in our blood again from some lost coral palace where we once belonged with tails and sea-song.
You mourn, we believe— not just for Atlantis sunk, but the footed ones who once shed their fins for love and never came back. The mermaid who walked away left you with silence and a tide that won't forget the cost of her tears.
That is why you storm. That is why you rage and crash, hurling broken shells— because love left and betrayed, and never returned. That is why you kiss the shore, with such aching force, hoping it remembers you each time it dries you.
Yet, you calm again, blue mirror of lost desire, as if you forgive just long enough to reflect the lovers who walk hand in hand, barefoot and warm, their shadows merging as if love was made for waves and skin was just foam.
You loved and lost us— and now you call with soft songs, seducing the shore, longing for feet to return to scaled purity. But we, traitors to our gills, have learned to walk far— so we visit now and then, but we do not stay.
Still, I know your heart. I too am like your heartbreak— loving what I lost, carving a shell with her name, listening for her in the echo of the conch, where her voice might live, and the sea might hold her breath the way I once did.
I love Yongsun so— her name rings in every wave, in each crest of blue, she’s the salt that seasons me, preserving my soul. The great black pearl of the deep, shard of Atlantis, no tide could ever contain her boundless bright light.
She is Poseidon's jealous hymn to what he loves, a siren with wings, and I am but a sea-song, humming to her feet— hoping she returns again and walks by my side, where sea meets the mortal earth, where hearts taste of brine.
Let the sea weep, love. Let it cry for all we lost, for all that we are— but know this: when I see you, I see ocean fire. I see the endless abyss, and I do not fear— for my love runs deep as tides, and you are my sea.
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