Farewell
When on the summer day you press your ear to the beach sand and slow your breath, you start distinguishing tiny signs of the underground life, like there is a hidden civilization underneath. In my theory, these are lost and forgot objects and stories. When you listen to it for a while, you blend with the sound. The wind is your breath, the sand is your skin, and the wash is your heartbeat. Sometimes you can catch patches of dialogues in an unknown language. Nature is the best DJ when it goes about special effects.
It’s been a while since I’m here, motionless, my cheek half-covered with the sand. I look like a typical sunbath lover with the only difference I’m not into sunburns and UV-aging. What you see here is a farewell, not to call funerals. In Eastern culture, we are taught to take it as misery. I’m here to celebrate though. It’s my liberation day. By the time the sun is drowned in the waves, I will be free.
I haven’t been on my own since the day when I’ve landed at the Lisbon airport, my hopes tightly packed in the suitcase one would consider a good fit for a week trip. In my case, it was a journey with an open end date.
We are close to the golden hour. There are two loud ladies stretching their big bodies on a huge stripy towel. A bunch of kids scream and laugh of excitement jumping and sinking in the waves like a shoal of dolphins. I watch the dance of sunbeams in the…
