The danish coastline to the west is ever changing, wild and sandy. In the past 500 years it has moved rapidly inwards, the sea swallowing all that is not protected by expensive damns and other construction. Even before the seas rose, many houses slowly sunk into the water, that ate away at the hills, eroding Denmark - and at the same time characterizing the country.

When I lived there, we were not that close to the sea, but we rode to it on bike often, feeling the wind on our faces, the saltwater marking us as the wind carried drops of it to slap our faces. Sometimes we jumped in the water, getting slung around by the waves, laughing when we got out, hot and cold at the same time, panting, alive.

That, my friend, is a quite different feeling than being far under the surface. Here, it is calm, and this is

where my house now is. It has become home to the re-emerging life down here, muscles, fishes and crabs living on the walls and in the ceilings. Even though it is hardly a house anymore, the roof sinking down to kiss the floor, the furniture in disrepair, it is home to many more creatures that is was when I was alive here.

I almost like it better, seeing all the drama play out, the hunts, the buildings of nests and the courting of mates.

There is so much life here, even as my own one is now quite forgotten.