A little drop of sea water curled inside a seashell, wailing quietly, singing the only song it has learned to sing. Longing for home, sitting on its little spot on the table.
The little gold fish in the aquarium opens its mouth a few times, listening, understanding. In its own little mind, there is a call, a call of the sea. Singing with mute sounds, it joins the seashell in a chorus. The seaweed undulates slowly, dancing to the song of the waves.
The window swings open and the salty air rushes in, salty tears caught by the wind, spread around the room.
The light carpet waves as well, stirred by the soft breeze. The threads break into tiny pieces, small pieces, grains of sand.
The furniture and walls, melting down slowly like sandcastles someone had poured water on. Collapsing to the center of the room, revealing the light blue sky, the sunshine and soft white clouds.
The last wood shards from the door burst, pushed aside by a huge wave, washing everything in its way, taking the little gold fish and the seashell in its embrace. The two souls sang in unison, a song about the sea, a joyful song about being back home.