He’ll drive me to an obscure spot one night, cryptic and secluded. Desperate to reveal his “secret” place, a barren parking lot fornenst the roaring sea. He’ll take my hand and navigate a narrow passageway pitifully consumed by verdancy, then skilfully tread along velvety sand where minuscule, adamantine granules dexterously slip between toes.
He’ll pause for a moment and survey the skies above and I’ll watch in awe as he inhales saltine breaths of satisfaction. He’ll lay down a mandala towel then motion for me to join. Without a moment to spare I’ll eagerly follow his lead and gracefully entwine my limbs with his.
We’ll stare wordlessly upwards, gazing at the stars above. The smell of brine about as thick as the resplendent brilliance beaming from high above; ever intoxicating and plunging us deep in thought.
He’ll proudly exclaim that this is what he treasures most. And how he’d been waiting his entire life for someone to share this with. And I’ll confide how I always imagined and yearned for such a place. That it was here all along, waiting for my discovery, waiting for me to find it with him.
How I’d been waiting my entire life to do something like this too.