Love in Watercolor

The sky, like a watercolor paper, is painted orange and yellow, with a touch of breeze that kissed their skins. It was about to get dark and the sun was giving its last show. The beauty of the sea contrasted with the dunes and the plants that grew in the sand. Five minutes or a lifetime, I could not tell how much time had passed; It was like observing a work of art and getting carried away by the sensations, until everything around it disappeared – the hours, the worries and the unanswered questions. At that moment, it felt so right, right enough for their bodies to rest in a hug and the sounds of their breathing to align with the waves.

Twenty-four hours together. Twenty-four hours without thinking about the bills, not listening to the sound of the renovation next door, not being bothered by the neighbor's dog who barked for any shadow or without thinking of the infinite pile of dishes and dust that was accumulating in the house. That image engraved in their minds was the best souvenir they could take from the trip.  The days would pass, but the painting would continue with them, reflecting the still living magic that burned their hearts.

In that place, they were alone and at the same time connected with the universe. Good things happen when we allow ourselves to slow down. Without thinking about the before or after, there, in the middle of their private beach, they left their marks on the sand and did not care about the wind that would soon make them disappear or the tide that would soon cover their tracks, all that mattered was the now. They were together and that was more than enough.

He sighed and thanked the heavens for the exhibition of living art. Of all the miles, of all the places they traveled, that was special. They did not need words to share what they were feeling, their eyes saw through the same lenses. Everything made sense. His arms met and were reluctant to let go. They did not care if they would never leave there, that place with no service on phone, there they had all the connection they needed. That was the island, which they promised one day to change, their little paradise, where they could splash paint and tell stories side by side, as it should be.

They needed to leave. Just as the sands arose and were drawn, they would move on. Fragments by fragments; The exchange was more than fair. They carried the sands into the car with their feet, but the true memories remained suspended in the air. The sky was painted dark blue, but within them the light still glowed.

After scribbling and painting, kissing and hugging, touching and being touched by the scenery, they were ready to go home.