We retreated from the bustle of the city, blare of horns, grip of the working elite, counting our blessings as the streets melted into pineapple fields, studding the crystal ocean like encrusted diamonds.
Our phones lay dead in our satchels. We didn't need a clock. Time evaporated when the pulse of the mainland dribbled into a flatline. So we walked, hand-in-hand, as the waves receded around our feet, leaving tiny pools of wet reed and moss and sponge up the shoreline. Our gaze drifted beyond the bay and into the incredible refuse of the sea. We spoke of the coral reefs teeming with tranquil life. And then you asked me if I was happy.
I squeezed your hand and relished in our peace. Soon we'd be thrust back into the noise that clogged minds and quickened hearts.
Paradise may be temporary, but at least we know the route.
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