Dahabian Time

Mesmerising waves under the fullest moon of the year, the blue lagoon has finally turned into a texture, a milky gradience, surrounded by its solemnly loyal mountains in the desert, reflecting their doubles on the surface, ensembled a scenery of sound frequency. The silver circle, of life, dilating, whilst being sliced a million times on the mirror plane but seemed to not affect the actual moon, at all. The stars are slowly rising, ruminations, regrets creep in (but they are supernovae, they died anyway), and they are not needed for now.

Try laying on the surface of the salt bath when the sun sank, and tilt your head gently upside down. After a while, the canyon will become the horizon, yet the shy crescent moon, starry sky, the constellations are always the same. It is there, so loyal but inexorably fleeting.

Like us.

Our memories told us to travel, beneath skies that sometimes dazzle like faceted sapphires or turquoises. Back in the warm Dahabian 5 o’ clock, the light glistening on everyone’s faces. Growing. Like melted gold. So as youth.

From there, such impression will be imprinted and left upon the back of my retina. Like a timestamp, like a fixed frame projection from an old 8mm film.

Remember us.

The palm trees drifting back and forth, like breathing, through their branches, entangled, like two friends refuse to say goodbye at the bus station.

And from Mirage to Laguna.
It is funny how we conquer time by meeting at a certain TIME in a certain space.

This is time. This time I am saying goodbye. TIME.

Is that small patch of Oasis that we found each other in the middle of the desert.
It’s that hint of optimism.

I love us.