The Never-Ending Sea

the coasts are the skin of bodies that hold secrets like a thousand year-old book-- a language unknown; lustful and ethereal, yet earthly all the same. sunken treasures and treasures from its womb will never emerge-- only sparkle for kilometers and glisten for years under a thick layer of dust known as the ocean we know. it sometimes gifts long-lost rings and dolls, and it sometimes can't hold back hostile teeth and dismembered guts. it is afraid of us and itself, but we will never be scared and never be impatient as the drift along the never-ending sea is horrendously long and horrendously arcane, intriguing, and breath-taking. there aren't always storms, but the waves sometimes kiss the boat and the lightning sometimes peeks at the fog below, wishing it could touch it. but anything is and will be possible in something never-ceasing, because without an end, there is only a journey through every feasible thing you could plan, and every unfeasible thing you can create.