A white rabbit rests against the open wing of a seagull- the kind of shelter that asks for nothing, yet marks you forever.
 
His heart shows beside her as a small, offered seashell: fragile, resonant, shaped by tides long before she held it.
 
Near the waterline lies his whistle, the call he once carried- a signal of devotion, trust, and the uncomplicated loyalty only a first love can give. It is hers now, to summon or leave untouched.
 
The spiral in the sand is the oldest symbol of all: memory looping back on itself.
It is the trace a first love leaves- not possession, not promise, but the quiet warmth of someone who shaped you simply by being kind when you were still becoming yourself.
 
Here, freedom does not oppose protection; it completes it.
Some loves do not return.
Some loves do not stay.
But the ones that arrive first leave a tide- mark on the soul that never washes away.