The most hopeful and perhaps truthful way of viewing the sky and the sea is as one indivisible body. This perspective is generously offered during specific moments of the day in which the sea loses a little of the green and the sky gains a heavier profundity and the respective color of each, full of obvious and subtle nuances, so closely approximates the other that it seems irrefutable that the division of things was invented by us, for us.
Another equally truthful and beautiful but not as optimistic way of seeing them is as eternally separated, one spreading indefinitely over the other. This viewpoint might at first appear as the opposite of the first one but I don’t necessarily see them as contradictory. Both move parallel to one another, maintaining the same distance, add a wave here, subtract a cloud there, perhaps –how should I know – refusing to meet precisely in order to safeguard that closeness/remoteness. Our limited perception cannot follow them to infinity and, thus, blindly and stubbornly we join or separate (?!) them through the illusory horizon line. This contrived meeting point betrays our not-so-secret desire for a happy ending. But how do you define happy or ending? Do things really end? What is a happy ending?by Kleitia Vaso