A beach on the edge of the world

At the edge of the world, where the sky had become an unreal carpet of evening haze, the beach stretched like a forgotten verse in the book of time. The sand, soft as a memory of the past days, met the wave streaming from the boundless horizon. The sea seemed like a big ocean of longing, in which the sun's rays were drowning, coloring the water surface with shades of unspoken sadness. Under the clouds, as if made of tears, a lone lantern swung, swinging a shadow on the sand. On the shore, as if someone had left important words, silent shells and empty bottles were lying around, somewhere they whispered about lost meetings. The setting sun left behind a ribbon of crimson light, like a bloody trail of passing time. The evening wind, like the last sigh of the passing summer, played with the hair, enveloping the bodies with an invisible veil of oblivion. Clouds floated on the horizon in the distance, like lost thoughts in the vastness, getting lost in the boundless sadness of the sea distance. The stars were quietly lighting up, like ancient witnesses of the boundless mysteries of the sea, carried away into the evening darkness. On this beach, where every wave was the elements of the soul, and every crest of the waves was a memory, it seemed that time stopped in the embrace of the sea, and sadness became the eternal companion of forgotten stories.