The morning was still young, the first rays of sun barely breaking over the horizon. A soft hue of pink and gold painted the sky, but it was the sound that held me. The rhythmic pulse of ocean waves, both relentless and gentle, whispered tales of ancient mariners and long-forgotten voyages. 

I sat on the damp sand, eyes closed, letting the sound envelop me. Each wave was a breath, a sigh from the deep abyss, speaking in a language older than time. With every ebb and flow, memories stirred - of childhood days spent on these shores, of dreams dreamt and lost, of moments when life seemed as boundless as the sea before me.

In the stillness of dawn, the waves sang a lullaby. They spoke of life's impermanence, of the fleeting nature of moments, and yet, in their ceaseless dance, they also told of endurance and eternity. 

As the sun climbed higher, casting golden reflections on the water, I remained there, lost in the symphony of the sea. A man, a horizon, and the timeless sound of waves at sunrise.