The white walls of the quirky café reflected its splendor on us. All sorts of plants in all sorts of greens were scattered around; either with the support of a tall wooden pot or with the sheer strength of that specific plant species. The chairs outside the cafe were painted sharp blue and sharp olive, rendering the place dreamy. The blue above us made me feel as if the ocean filled the small town with saltwater because it had the right to do so.
There were tiny houses all next to each other, and the color palette they created together was beyond perfect. The quaint stone surface of the path chased an endless symphony and the tones of blue in the sky got brighter as it moved on. A lonely cloud smiled, the shades of summer laughed, the wind closed its eyes, and I questioned the transcending beauty of this atmosphere.
"Does it ever become winter here?"
It took one whistle of a soft summer breeze before I got a reply from the voice that is the most familiar to me.
"I doubt it."
He seemed to be enchanted by this unpopular, small ocean town. His eyes were grabbing the colors and his mind was singing the imagery of the location to his memory. I was sure that, when we arrived back home, painting the scene would be the first thing he'd do.
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A flock of albatrosses glided overhead before we ultimately met with the ocean herself. This was a moment of euphoria. A majority of our favorite songs were written about this endless blue liquid by a dreamer who had barely seen this grandeur. Why was I so in love with this atmosphere?
Then I felt the sunset when it was the afternoon. Then came dusk. Time was a single point in space and it spiraled around itself as I engaged in a brief introspection. I realized that this was going to be a beautiful memory and I also realized that I had written about this exact trip before it even occurred. That's how magical it was.
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