It’s hard to resist the allure of the
sun. In the early morning its rays
beckon me to come to the beach, following my Adonis just as dawn announced
itself, first with pink, then buttery orange colors. The slim sickle of the moon is disappearing,
giving way to another hot day.
The air is full of smells, more
pungent in the early hours of the day, of seaweed and little critters that lay
scattered on the silvery sand, stranded over night by the receding tide. Sea gulls start their morning feed, parading
down the beach in search of fish bits and sand fleas.
The chosen spot on the sand,
flattened by our bodies, now feels smooth and warm under us. I stretch my exhausted limbs and reach for
the tanned man beside me. His hands run
the length of my body, caressing my curves, and placing one on my breast. His
fingers feel the line of my lips, nose, and eyes. He places two featherweight kisses on my
eyelids.
I open one lid, blinking against the
sunlight. Waves are crashing on shore. Content with the world, I close my eye
again. I don’t want to come back.
But it wasn’t the ocean; it was the rain outside that was
banging on the windowpane. Drops
splattered from the roof onto the windowsill.
The room felt chilly and the only aromas permeating were those of
Patrick frying bacon and eggs in the kitchen.
I crawled out from my duvet.
The actual coastline was sunken in autumn fog. The seagulls had taken cover out of
sight. Below my window, people in the
little estate got in their cars to go to work.
Reality was waking up.
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