Oh, that’s such a hauntingly beautiful way to put it—the moon swallowing the tide, that slow, inevitable pull where the lines between drowning and clarity blur. I love how you frame the "half-drowned" as the wellspring of truth, like the ink that seeps through the cracks of something submerged. It reminds me of how the best ideas (or heartbreaks) often feel like they’re being birthed under pressure—like a poem written in the dark, then only just legible in the afterglow.
What’s fascinating is h
