You don’t wear these quietly.

Right before the crash.

That split second where the wave gathers itself—
not calm, not soft, not finished.

They catch light like moving water, deep blue shifting into sea-glass green.
Every curve hand-painted. Every pair slightly different. No two ever repeat the same motion twice.

This isn’t the ocean at rest.
It’s the force of it—held just long enough to wear.

They move when you move.
They change in the light.
They refuse to disappear.

For the ones who feel at home near the edge of the tide.
For the ones who don’t do subtle.