We drove through orange groves, wildflowers and neatly plowed earth. Off road gravel paths, through narrow corridors of field. He said he wanted to live anonymously, in a small town like this, where internet is scarce and everything is painted vibrantly. The hills glid over us like emerald blankets, accompanied by palm trees that fanned out, cloaking the town in strange shadows. The land shimmered with energy. There were oil painted hummingbirds everywhere, hand woven rugs, sacred hearts and distorted clay sculptures of deities and monsters. My hair had turned the color of topaz, burnt by the light of the sun. His seemed to capture it, and he shone the color of finely spun gold. He was handsome in wise, timeless way, with a perfectly square jaw and hands made for percussion, that left trails of fire on my skin and shortened my breath. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and they held a steady, unbreakable gaze. Penetratingly truthful. Hauntingly honest. There was no rational justification for the depth of our connection.
He seemed to animate a deeply exclusive, animal energy inside of me, that rendered me powerless in a whirlpool of wanting.
The narrow roads were crumbling into orange dust, so we mainly travelled by foot, his hands on the small of my waist, guiding me into the ocean. In the evenings we lay under the stars, moving like we were underwater, melting and welding into one another, each of his breaths stealing one of mine. Incinerating my inhibitions, currents of breathless surrender encompassing my body. Until we were covered in sweat and each other’s tears. Then we charged into the clear, purple ocean and lived this day over and over again. We were humble and unknown, but never bored. Dizzy from the humidity and overloaded with sensation.