There is dirt and dust and wet jean shorts from waterfalls and sunshine and a day lived hard.
We rip, chasing the last of the day frantically. There is a bottle of Merlot, it's open and untouched.
We could miss the sunset, it happens everyday. But we could also chase it, and I'm here to chase magic. I'm here to take the last slice of red hot sun as it sinks into le mar and the white wisps of waves--mimicking the clouds above.
We throw shoes, a torn and tattered and rusty stained blue blanket and rush to feel the ocean with our toes.
We made the show. And we leave our cellphones and cameras, away, in our bags.
There is gooey melted ice cream on my leg, salt on my face and sunshine in my hair.
It is unspoken that this a moment to be devoured without distraction--to become a vivid, lit on fire memory we can taste and smell and see and feel years from now because we are showing up, dropped on our knees with gratitude to be present.
To be alive is such a rich thing. To have legs to stand upon and tear into this world with our wide open red beating hearts.
The sky is orange, and purple, Venus shines--there, trying to steal the show but it can't, for if the clouds were a woman, she would be so beautiful the orchestra would drop their harps, their strings, their drums--they would weep and look away and look back and lust and love and fall away.
There is laughter and hands held and heads falling on shoulders. We sit closely and drink in our existence and the world at last light.
Today we are living.
We are souls who rock their bliss hard.
The decadent connections I stumble upon, and moments like this remind me the beauty of being together, the beauty of being alive.
Let's chase magic and write poetry, fall asleep together in hammocks, flirt with love, or perhaps loving love and get old and wrinkly and do it all over again tomorrow.
Dear yesterday, I love you.
Dear tomorrow, you better be god damn beautiful--I've got expectations lit on fire.