It was the last of summer but the sun clung onto us as if we were talking about a revolution. We drank white wine spritzers under the shade of a pomegranate tree and talked about the nonsensical things that seem to make sense when you’re with someone whom you can easily call your honey.
When it got too hot we dipped our feet into the golden turquoise pool and swirled it around making ripples and baked in the sunshine. Then he laid his head on my bare sun kissed lap for the first time and I sat in quiet sweet content listening to the stillness of the afternoon somewhere deep in the heart of Majorca where trees bore greenish yellow lemons and lilac rosemary bushes hummed of crickets and bees.
I photographed that moment in my mind, to never forget the moments of falling in to someone. The moments where we were going to be strong and tall like pine trees standing under the stars in the woods; we’d sing and life would be evergreen.
We ate fish, grilled on a barbecue of salvaged tree branches and charcoal; spaghetti vongole and octopus potato salad with herbs, fruits and nuts we would forage from the land in our shorts, flip flopped feet, smiley sweaty faces and scrappy knees.
But the storm came in the night while we slept and dreamed like dogs running in the fields; and wiped it all away in one pour. I knew I would end up in one of your zeitgeist blog posts he said. I said, that wasn’t you, I was talking about someone else. He smiled, and, he left.