Shell of Questions

Waves curl forward in hushed increments, letting the tide whisper around the carved shell as though repeating the inscription in a language older than speech. The letters—cut deep and precise—testify to intention rather than chance; I trace their shadows with measured eyes, recalling the moment last winter when his footprints veered abruptly seaward without turning back. Above, gulls arc in synchronized lift, their bodies taut yet buoyant, splitting the scene into layers of motion that all seem to lean toward the molten horizon. The beach yields gently underfoot, each grain cool yet faintly trembling from the pull beneath, and I feel my own spine lengthen with the thought that climbing forward—always forward—might raise both question and answer to equal height. Pale light fractures across wet sand, curling into scalloped patterns that frame this relic like a quiet verdict. And still, even now, Vojta does not surface; his absence lingers as surely as the tide’s patient breath.