xigekey
474 posts
Jul 29, 2025
11:14 PM
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Image this.
You are standing barefoot at the side of the ocean. The air is heavy with salt, the atmosphere painted in bruised purples and firelight from the dying sun. The waves race forward, curling and breaking at the feet, before falling quietly back in the depths.
But this isn't just water touching you.
Because every tide… carries memory.
Exactly the same hold that brushes against your ankles tonight once swept around worlds you might never know. It hidden forgotten cities, cooled lava because it poured from newborn volcanoes, and drowned woods that existed before humans actually imagined walking upright. It moved the ashes of fires that burned out one thousand decades ago. It has presented the bones of sailors who vanished in to the night time, their sounds swallowed by wind and water.
And today it variations you.
The wave requires bits of the planet with it every time it retreats — cereals of mud from hills that dropped way back when, covers that once sheltered lives smaller than a fingernail, fragments of rock and glass utilized smooth from generations of tumbling. Wherever do they go? To the places we can't see. Into trenches greater than Everest is large, in to dark canyons wherever gentle never handled, into currents that group the globe like arteries.
The wave hides everything it gathers, burying the world's memories in a stop also huge for us to break.
We inform ourselves we understand it. We chart its designs, construct surfaces and harbors to fight it, title the hours when it will increase and fall. However the wave does not worry about our measurements. It never belonged to us. It concentrates simply to the moon.
That light ghost in the air, distant and untouchable, brings at the oceans every time of each day. The water extends toward it, growing to generally meet its invisible hand. And once the moon converts away, the water falls back. This silent tug-of-war has shaped the world for billions of years. Actually the deepest seas are connected to something beyond themselves.
The hold is changing.
It's creeping further inland now. Glaciers are melting into their depths, warming waters are swelling its human anatomy, and shorelines are vanishing item by piece. Islands we when thought endless are actually gone, paid off to just titles on old maps.
And here is the truth a lot of people do not need to handle: the hold won't end for us.
We contact it disaster. The wave calls it nothing at all. It just continues, since it generally has, using and providing, building and erasing. It's erased whole continents before. It will do therefore again.
Are you able to envision the long run?
The water moves on the cities we built. Streets disappear under the dunes, their asphalt damaged and damaged like previous bone. Systems collapse in to the search, turning in to reefs where fish move through quiet glass halls. Monuments crumble, broken and spread till they are indistinguishable from the rocks of the seabed. Entire civilizations are reduced to fragments, overly enthusiastic by currents so strong we will never move against them.
And when it occurs, the wave won't roar. It won't rage. It will not mourn.
It only will remember.
Since that's what the hold does. It's the planet's memory. Every life, every hurricane, every loss is folded in to its depths and carried forward. The hold has watched whole sides increase and fall. It understands points number individual language can actually hold.
However the tide is not just a thief. It is a sculptor.
It offers living to the shore. It bears nutritional elements to estuaries and marshlands where new creatures are born. It designs the ends of the planet earth, removing sharp rocks in to smooth rocks, remaking beaches with every breath. Minus the wave, the planet's pulse could falter. Oceans could stagnate. Coastlines might wither.
Perhaps that's why we're interested in it.
We visit the water's side without always knowing why. Kiddies pursuit the retreating waves, joking, then shriek when it rushes back toward them. People sit at the shoreline for hours, hypnotized by the beat, allowing the noise of their lives slide away. There's something eternal in the tide's breath — a thing that calls to the part folks that recalls wherever we came from.
Because we originated from the water once.
The tide moved living onto the land. It cradled the very first sensitive animals that dared to crawl from the shallows. And probably this is exactly why we experience therefore little ranking before it now — not since it can take sets from us, but since in certain deep, unspoken way, we realize it offered people everything first.
Stand there good enough, and you'll start to spot the details. The quiet whip at your ankles since it brings away. The hiss of bubbles collapsing in the foam. The light, almost individual sigh because it exhales onto the sand.
If you hear tightly, you could hear the wave telling you a truth:
“Nothing you know is permanent.
But nothing is truly lost, either.”
1 day, the wave will move over the entire world like we were never here. The titles of our cities, the borders we struggled wars to protect, the monuments we developed to overcome time — everything is going to be swept out, softened, and carried into the deep.
And yet… there's an odd comfort in that.
Since the hold reminds us that people are element of something bigger than Planet. Something that does not need people, but keeps us all the same. Everything we do, every thing we build, every breath we get becomes section of its memory. The wave maintains it, even whenever we are gone.
You will never know all that it carries. Nothing of us will.
But the next time you are at the beach, stop. Have the move at your feet. View the dunes draw lines in the sand, then remove them without hesitation. Remember that the exact same wave moved lives you'll never match and will feel lives long after yours.
It does not matter in the event that you forget.
The tide won't.
The tides won't ever reveal their secrets.
But when you're quiet enough, you could experience them in your bones.
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