The Sea

Your eyes were filled with galaxies and nebulas and ever-expanding openness.

And I looked upon you with my own. They are made of famines and pestilence, cold calculating madness and, most of all, the reflection of you.

You are time, you have never happened, but you are happening now, and have yet to happen. 

I cried for you, and they laughed at us and it felt like hell and pain and heaven and every thing that love was supposed to be— did you miss me?

I didn't think so. You were so grand, and I just wanted to be close to you. How are humans to love the sea?