Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to sit at the bottom of the sea.
In the very deepest ravine, forever untouched by the light of the sun, I would lay myself. A place utterly foreign to the touch of mankind, save the ancient bones of long-shipwrecked sailors, their former bodies eroded by the cruel water. Unimaginable creatures, ones who have never known the light and land, only the all-consuming darkness and the scent of their prey, would glide past me. It would be cold, too cold for any human to survive, but I would not feel it. Every part of my body would be surrounded by the water, and it would fill my mouth and throat and lungs, but I would not drown. I would not fear, but know the water as part of myself.
I would sit for centuries, until everyone I ever knew was dead, along with their ancestors, until my name has been uttered for the last time and the world has forgotten me. Then, finally, the sea would claim me as its own, as my body turns to stone and my bones are covered in algae.
The sea has been here since far before we were, and will be here for long after, its eternal depths unaffected by the follies of land.