Because I’ve admired the waves of the Mediterranean sea this weekend, it made me think about the seaside back home, so I wanted to share my image of the Black Sea.
The sea, a vast blue color, worshiped by seaweeds and crayoned by the seagulls. Strange shapes, outlined by the clouds, push the light towards the excitement. An ant touches my pen like the sign of the warrior who defends his territory. You can drown your gaze over the hundreds of tents that host the depraved of fun.
I hate the seaside. It defies and worships my power at the same time. Like a sly quack, she can cure my diseases and pain. It catches my glance and never gluts it, out of fear that I’ll forget. The sea is like a just bloomed young lady, all dressed up for the prom, wanting to twist minds and to sicken bodies with pure desire. And in the end she’s nothing but a blue moving shadow that forces us to deify it. She deceitfully whispers in our ears, to taste the refined liquids that trouble our minds and make us fall in love with strangers. The person next to you is none other than your best friend, whom you will maybe never meet again, unless you enter the annual race of fun and forgiven dementia.
If hell exists I am sure it has a seaside. She feeds with the stories of her prisoners, having fun of their satanic outbursts. Two lovers sit on the sand and cuddle. What do they expect? Do they think the sea will clean their lust and fill their desired bodies? Their break-up hardness her waves and gives her confirmation that the life of humans is useless to themselves; but not to her. So, she drugs them and torments them, giving them hope and depravation. And this entire struggle is possible just by moving constantly in the same place. That’s how the Black Sea is; a devil that offers pleasures with all costs included. I hate it, so I’ll return.