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Jul. 17th, 2014 | 11:09 pm

#8 / Free

The sun pokes at your eyes, it burns your skin that smells like the ocean mixed with sun block as you cruise in a bike; you try your hardest to focus on the peddling and turning the wheel in the right direction and not get consumed by the mop of hair that's disabling your vision.

He's sitting there in the space in front you, this is illegal but both of you are in the middle of nowhere surrounded by sea shores and some endless concrete roads that lead back home (or somewhere else), he's navigating with his mouth turn left, no! you're other left, you obey just as fast as the words leave his mouth, he's all over the place and it's tiring to keep up. It's a miracle you still haven't let yourselves fall down in the hostel's bike rental.

You stop by the foot of the hill sweaty, arms trying not to give in while you whine, no way in hell am i going to pedal your fat ass all the way up there, and he pouts, punches your arm lightly acting like he's offended then he shoves the pack to your calloused hands, takes the bike and pushes it up the hill without a single word but the goofy grin says it all.

Both of you don't know what's exactly up there, it could be a total disappointment like a red bricked wall or some sort of barren land; you don't really know what to expect but you see the childlike excitement in his face, that way it complements the sunlight as he turns to look back at you and asks if you're okay. It's a long way up the hill, sweat drips down your back, your temples - every single nook and cranny in your body and it feels amazing.

You reach the top of the hill, you see the horizon coloured in gradient dark pink and orange; it's nothing like in the city but it feels like a real life painting right before your eyes and it's beautiful. You look at your side and there he is, his cheeks bunching up to his eyes as he stares at what the horizon had painted for him, for you. You have this urge to hold his hand just because you can, you're different here because in here you can be whatever you want to be nothing like in the city where you're restricted by nosy photographers and worldly obligations. So you do, you grab his hand, you startle him but he smiles back and the quick pace of the sun setting frames his face so perfectly it makes you want to cry.

You twirl him to you, when he's close enough you trap him in your arms and you place a gentle hand on his face, stare at him from his wild black curls to his full eyebrows to his long lashes to the slope of his nose and finally to his full pinkish lips. You take your time because in this moment you can and you realise, this is all yours.

He kisses you because he's impatient and you laugh into the kiss, his large hands steadying you in the small of your back while you arch a little into him, you still laugh like you just heard the funniest joke ever, like seeing your twelve year old photo album. But the reason you laugh is because you're happy, you laugh because this is all yours and you laugh because you're so in love it's unreal.

The sun sets but you're still there, he's still there - he's still yours.

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