Standing in a tree-lined sports field. An island of green among redbrick.

“To me, you are the Sea”

And you feel seen. And you feel that you are the sea, and you will move through life thus.

Your thoughts will go like this:

I am calm but endlessly complex.

I am soft yet I have the power to destroy.

I am immutably myself, and only great forces of nature can change that.

You do not reach for these thoughts when nattering away with friends, or watching that TV show that so distracts you.

No, they rise in you when those moments have passed, when some weight bares down on you, and you think: I am indifferent, I am destructive, I am complex.

“You’re not literally the sea, but it’s true, you are sea-like to me”

You say this to yourself. You imagine waves and water churning inside.

And yet, every so often a little thought nags at you. A thought about a boat.

You wonder about turning to yourself, and saying:

“What if you’re not the sea, but instead a boat?”

Not so indifferent, destructive or complex.

But rigid, explicable and moved by a gentle breeze.

Maybe. But boat-like and sea-like though you may be, you are neither equally.