Every aspect of this place appears to have altered; I feel as if I'm in uncharted territory, with little but a phantom sense of longing in my heart, which I am convinced is a fabrication.
While it isn't storming, the sky is awash in varying shades and titles that decry the uphill struggle at the frontiers, which may also touch their dwellings in a month or even a few.
The shops are in the contrary from where they used to be; and even though the spring sale is still going on, the mood is not as upbeat.
It is not surprising for one half of their bodies to be frozen while the other cries out in pain. I am quite well aware that they are here to deflect their focus from the reality that is hammering at their doors and that they have a lot of loose strands they would rather check upon.
But for one in my position, who is likely still meandering across a faraway section of a universe to which he does not connect, I can only snicker at how they must imagine themselves to be substantial inside one particular fortress of fancy.
This dream and I are both unique.
It seems that I am affluent as I'm sporting a face and a shirt that clearly do not pertain to me. The shirt is tightly buttoned to hold the exquisite bow tie, which is capped by a dapper vest with five buttons, and it has a rather deep v-line, emblazoned with letters A and M, denoting the initials of a name.
The name Arim Mose may be only a little line of a chapter in the record of world history, yet many who have read it know how he was once nasty, biased, and cunning, which was all but a veneer, a coping tool for his unpleasant past.
He was reared in a prosperous family in a typical port; he was born there and thrived there until he was roughly 11 years old, when things started to go sour.
After losing his mother and brothers in a prayer vigil orchestrated solely for the purpose of amassing and eradicating a great group of individuals to make a statement to the controlling authorities, he could only booze and bathe in an abyss of rage.
His father was loving, but it didn't take long for him to develop his own demons, some of which were whipped into the very being of his own kid, which eventually morphed him into a deadly bully whom the students had to contend with.
I wonder if the guide perched on his shoulder ever asked him, "What the heck are you doing?" as frequently as mine definitely asks.
He is still dissatisfied. His contemptuous eyes are searing my spirit as I wander in loops searching for a part of the mosaic when one obviously resides on the inside of the establishment which once soothed my bruised individuality.
But since he lacks the necessary hearing, I am conscious that my efforts to induce him to recognize the girl I am trying to pursue—the one selling the clemotis, the exotic blooms of the morning star—will be in vain.
Being a very uncommon specimen, it only unfolds its little petals over a sizable area twice a year, and when it does, it makes sure to sweep away the tone of the grounds, dazzling them with gold, black, and brown in the same manner as its painter who did it, but rough, prior to exchanging it for a sapphire with the store's proprietor.
However, it wasn't until my fifth date with Maya that I found out about it.
It was still early in the night, and the lanterns were towering rapidly, posing a menace to the slippery, shimmering rocks that were sporadically placed on the lovely coastline.
The waters were calm, and their reflections discreetly granted the tourists an opportunity to find solitude, illuminating a way for them if they didn't already have one.
And even though we were gulping down on some of the best margaritas in the room while soaking in practically everything surrounding us with our gaze, it was simply not enough.
"What do you believe?" She grinned and brushed her hands down her long, silky hair as she waved her glass towards the face of the reception desk. "Should we return to our room?"
"I don't see why we're still here." I chuckled as I tucked my hands under her arms, bringing her further against my chest, delving into her warmth.
"Now, now, I don't need you to start here," she smiled, peering into my eyes, allowing me a moment to ponder before uniting our lips.
"Someone said we weren't going to start here," I muttered after releasing our ardent link, adoring her existence.
"What are you on about?" She joked as she lifted her hand out to pinch my nose. "It seems that you're dreaming,"
"Am I now?" I whispered, stroking her face.
"Do you have anything on your mind right now?" She wondered as she entwined our hands, her brows sharp in that way they are when she is inquisitive about something.
"Nothing major, just felt that your eyes were like clemotis," I replied.
"So, you saw that I was looking at them." She sank back in her chair with a tiny quaver, putting a distance between us.
"It was a barter; we handed a sapphire," she explained as she averted her gaze to a neighbouring server, "Excuse me."
"Why do I get the impression that there might be more to this tale?" I said, slipping off the seat near her.
"So, you’re insinuating that I'm fibbing?" She grimaced and rested her palm on her temple.
"I did not say it in that way." I reacted hastily, alarmed by her abrupt rage.
"You know what, you can take the room for yourself," she exclaimed as she crammed her possessions into her clutch.
"Wait a minute, what?" I gasped, "What have I done?"
