You know that moment when suddenly you’re in a trance and it feels like nothing particularly and it’s the moment when you’re just with yourself, blocking out everything else like it’s a part of nothing? Allow me, to take you into the complexes of my mind to a world where nothing is ever defined.

I was standing in front of a beautiful lake on a hot Sunday morning when the lake spoke to me. It was of course my inner voice and not the lake. It told me its story of evolution and all the pain and sadness it has gone through. All the heartbreaks and things of that sort. It said that in the end it all comes down to this one thing called living in the moment. Funny thing for a lake to say right? it’s always stagnant. As I sat there romancing myself and the magnificence of the lake, I thought of an ocean. This ocean was larger than the lake and the lake larger than me, in terms of evolution and experience but yet I was the one who sat here observing all carbon made matter and I would be the one to write about it later. The ocean and the lake and all matter would just continue experiencing new species and new concepts that somehow would make them more significant and diverse in their own way. Then it struck me. What if oceans could talk? Imagine. “You spin my head right round right round when you go down” said by a cyclone. “I have decided to kill you now *huge wave*” “I really need you now. You’re beautiful *huge wave x2*”

The relationship between a talking ocean and a human would be a funny one indeed. It would be called absurd romance. It would bring about the most unnatural of things in the most natural of ways. It would also probably tell the human to stop killing it. I mean, you kill the thing you need most. Who does that? Definitely not the almighty superior species of homo sapiens who might as well have been aliens in the disguise of humans trying to eat up the core of the earth because it gives them the power to control the universe.

What if it wasn’t an ocean of water but an ocean of feelings? Things would be different then, won’t they? Romance would suddenly not be absurd anymore and the talking ocean would make sense. Why do we only romance things that make sense? Who defines sense anyway? I will always continue to romance my ocean and myself in ways that you can never even imagine. Because you’re blind. And because it’s a good way to end this piece of work.