If I am the ocean, with caverns deep and unexplored, with waves only a ripple of my world’s shifts, with creatures who have never seen light you are the sky, hovering above me: always looming, ever lurking – sometimes forgotten, but never gone. I am your victim. Sunny, you suck up my waters, and I dry the throats of millions. Rainy, you fill me up, and I wash away sheets of rock. Windy, you churn my belly, and I drown Japanese fishermen. You hold my sun, dragging it over my waves, trickling golden glitter across their tips. You hold my moon, gliding it across my surface, painting me black. If I am the ocean, seemingly bottomless, you are the sky, infinitely boundless. If I am the ocean, cerulean blue, you are the sky, powder blue – a pale, shallow reflection of my own colors, my own soul. Without me, no child would ask of you, no sunset would change you, no one would see you. Without me, you wouldn’t exist.