The world, seen through the veil of water, is like a dream half-remembered. The bright yellow buoys, hanging weightless in the liquid sky, seem like strange birds tethered to the waves, trapped between earth and air. The red letters, smeared by the trembling surface, pulse like an ancient heartbeat, carrying with them the forgotten voices of sailors and fishermen, their words dissolving into the shimmering blue. All the colors—yellow, red, white, and blue—melt together, as though the water itself were a painter, careless yet wise, giving life to fleeting moments that exist only for those who dare to look beyond the ordinary.

In this reflection, time unravels, mingling the past with the present, making everything appear as a ripple of memory. The surface trembles, and the solid world becomes fluid, a mosaic of fragmented light and shadow. Here, in this ephemeral dance, the lines blur between what is real and what is imagined, as though the sea itself were whispering that life, like these reflections, is never what it seems. There is a magic in this stillness, an unseen hand guiding the light to fall just so, reminding us that beneath all things lies a deeper, more mysterious truth—one that shimmers, flickers, and, like the water, can never be fully grasped.