To you, who is two opposite, yet close, elements: earth and water. To you, who is like the rock and the sea, the rock that turns into sea water to create the magic that surrounds me in summer.

I think of the warmth of the rocks after a sunny day to be like your skin: dark, smooth, earthy, and that reminds me of the color of unripe olives. I used to find refugee in that skin. Then, the color of the sea, like your eyes: cold but deep. Concealing so much, a world all unknown in which I wanted to navigate. Your clear eyes, slightly blue and a little green too, just like the sea: they change color when hit by the light.

I tried to enjoy this magical landscape, to live in it and get to know it. From the rocks, I would dive into the water headfirst, swimming under the surface, but not too deep. There was a barrier that prevented me from swimming further down, and I couldn't breathe. Then I would come back up to the surface, stick my head out and cling to a rock with my hands. I climbed up, and then dived again from a higher point than before. Back into the water - back up the rocks. This up-and-down cycle went on for a while, giving me the opportunity to discover new waters to wander around in, find out which rocks are sharper and which are softer. I discovered all of this with love, with care and desire, a desire to climb higher and dive deeper.

But through it all, I lost count of how many times I went back and forth, eventually ending up feeling exhausted. My fingers got harder and numb, and my knees were scratched. Climbing up the rock was tiring, and my body felt every slightest movement of the sea like a giant, overwhelming wave. My breath got worse with each swim, and so each time I had to settle with just the surface.

In the end, I had nothing left: I had to sit on the edge of a rock, next to the sea. Climb higher or swim deeper? They were both too exhausting. So I sat, for a while, admiring the view from below, and the one from above, feeling as usual in that grey, muddy, uncomfortable and confusing area: the middle ground, the protagonist of my life.

And you were standing there, still, with the waves breathing, giving off cold, dry air, as the rocks at my back transpired dry heat. Cold and hot… see? You were sending me these contradictory signals, impossible for me to understand.

What should I do now? Do I attempt another climb and another dive, or do I stay put?