The Opera House looks like it’s ready to set sail into the harbor.

The sails of the Opera House caught the fading sunlight as if they were crafted from some celestial fabric. They seemed almost weightless against the heavy permanence of the water below. The harbor was alive with movement—a ferry docked nearby while a group of kayakers cut through the gentle waves like purposeful insects. Across from me, a couple leaned against the railing, their faces half-lit by the amber glow of evening. I couldn’t help but notice how their laughter blended into the rhythm of distant waves and seagull cries. The city beyond stood quietly in its shadowed grandeur, as though it had agreed to let this moment belong entirely to its most famous silhouette. Somewhere behind me, a street performer’s guitar added a faint melody to it all—a soundtrack for those who paused long enough to listen.