Escape into the Gray

The photograph is gentle and pleasing to the eye. It feels enclosed—or perhaps endless; I cannot tell. That gray horizon where the sea meets the sky unsettles me. I wish I could run my hand across it, erase it, and drown in the sea—or in the sky. Yet I know that boundary exists only within the photograph, only in the way I see it. Perhaps the photograph is an answer to a fear—the fear of living through days steeped in sorrow and anxiety. I need it so that I may escape and lose myself in this imagined blue landscape where the stars of the sky have spilled onto the shore and shimmer upon the sand. I would bend down to gather a handful of them and follow their trail until they grow fewer and finally disappear into the gray of the sea and then the blue of the sky. And I would believe that the sea is endless, the gray line does not exist and that the photograph is lying.