We always expected the other person to make that difference.
We shimmered in our laziness, but then the consequences flooded back. A big, great, giant, colossal wave of regret and pain.
It wasn't until the sea creatures whimpered and went extinct that there was a call for change among the countries, but by then it was a recovery, not a rescue. I remember the protests of people fighting for coral protection, for the possibility in the future that there would never be any sea turtles with a straw jammed up their nose (blocking their air passages, and dying a slow suffocating death), for a chance at a world with clear aquamarine waters. They would cram behind government gates, raising their signs until their arms went tingly and their throats hoarse with the yelling they had been doing all day - "WE WANT NATURE'S OCEAN, NOT BOTTLED WAVES. WE WANT NATURE'S OCEAN, NOT BOTTLED WAVES." I wish I could have gone back in time, to just put a hand on their shoulder's, and resignedly say that their actions will have no impact. The officials staring outside their pristine sea glass windows will, regardless, turn their head slowly from the mass crowds; their thoughts greedy with the licks of blood money.
It's hard to reflect back on this. I float in the salty waters, squinting straight up at the sun and all its mockery - what kind of species destroy themselves? Ha! and I run my hands through the silky water, trying to grasp for a taste of what life was like when the real oceans ruled the world in all its glory. I scan my surroundings, and watch little children rock back and forth as the tides draw in and out. There's a deep pull at my heart as I absorb their tinkling laughter, their small pudgy hands flitting water back and forth. They have never experienced the real deal - the wonders of seeing the ocean line cross into oblivion, where waters stretch out for miles and miles and miles with no stopping; a smooth, soft, dynamic fabric. They will never see that sunset, that beautiful sunset, when the rosy sun beams shatter against the ocean surface into a million pieces.
I dig my feet into the ocean sand, feeling that artificial rough graininess against the papery skin of my toes. It's silly, but I miss that ocean. I miss it alot. I miss the dolphins. I miss the little fish. I miss everything about it. And even though this ocean park, one of many across the globe, tries to mimic the ocean with the mechanically generated waves and buckets of sand, it's not the same. I want the real thing back, but I know that's impossible.
All we have left are these bottled waves.
