The Edge of the Sea

The Edge of the Sea

Looking out at the outline of the sea in the dark, you could swear that the edge of the world is visible. An inkiness sops up the sea, coloring it night and confusing it with the sky. The end of the world is clear–a white break in the opaque–and is so near, as near as it could possibly be.

You could be sure of it, swear that you know where the margin is if you didn't know the truth of day...that once, nearly a year ago, you broke through the breaking point. You swam into it, fearing your breath or your legs wouldn't last until you truly tested the limits. But there you were–being helped onto the rocks by the hand of an elderly man who had reached the border between sky and land out of curiosity. And in trepidation you stepped onto the slipperiness to see the end.

But what you saw was the beginning: the launch pad of another sea. The water lept from the rocks and pushed off into the vastness, vast itself. And it made you wonder: where did the source of the sea lie? Could there be multiple seas in one sea, just starting over again at a break in the coral reef? Which one was the real sea? What really happens when you reach the "end of the Earth" and how would you know once you got there? 

You remember that now, imagining yourself at the break again. "The end is all an illusion," you think. "It's just the beginning of something else, a wave breaking into the sea making way for another wave."

Photo: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/elg21-3764790/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=7995369">Enrique</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=7995369">Pixabay</a>

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi