Each night, as I close my eyes and drift into sleep, I am transported into a world both breathtaking and mysterious—a world where tidal waves become majestic, otherworldly forces shaping my dreamscape. These recurring visions are not just dreams, but enchanting odysseys that have woven themselves into the tapestry of my nights for as long as I can recall.

The journey always begins on the edge of a familiar beach, kissed by moonlight and framed by ancient, towering cliffs. The air is thick with anticipation, the sea gleaming under a velvet sky. The cliffs, ever-watchful guardians, lend an air of grandeur and adventure, making the approach of the wave feel like a secret whispered by the universe itself.

In these mesmerizing dreams, the ocean sometimes rises with a slow, magical inevitability, its surface shimmering as it gently consumes the shoreline. There are moments of joy and laughter, as I walk the sand with my brother and a friend, the world calm before the enchantment begins. Then, almost imperceptibly, the tide stirs—its advance both terrifying and beautiful. Occasionally, I become aware I am dreaming, a thrilling realization that turns urgency into wonder, as if I have been granted front-row access to nature’s most magnificent spectacle.

On other nights, I stand atop the opposite cliff, spellbound as the tidal wave spills over and transforms the familiar streets below into glistening rivers. In these moments, time slows, and I am called to act, to run, to marvel at the sheer power of the dream and my place within its unfolding story.

Awakening from these dreams, I am left with a lingering sense of awe and mystery. Each tidal wave, whether it sweeps the beach or floods the city, leaves behind echoes of emotion and flashes of discovery, shaping my nights with a magic that persists long after I wake.