Then came the dark. We were lying on the beach drunk and surrounded by candles. It was 2oo9, it was a cold night in Playa del Ingles, but we didn't care. We got the candles. The sea was yelling in the black hole. We couldn't see, but we heard it. It was close.
We spent that night at the beach. I was cold. I wasn't sleeping that night, I was protecting Mariia's dreams and imagining myself battling for our lives, trying to figure out ways to keep it quiet so she wouldn't have to wake up. She was sleeping tight. I tried to steal her camera, but she seemed to know how to handle the situation when you end up passing out at the beach.
There I was, In Gran Canary, in Playa del Ingles, and only few hours ago the beach was full of delight, heat and red'n'white tourists. Now there were only me and Mariia. I was freezing my ass off in the cold sand and dreaming about some furry animals and Mariia was sleeping next to me probaply somewhere far away from that situation.
Next night we were arguing for the first time ever. Or if she wasn't then at least I was. I was pissed, she was hungry, I wanted to go back to our staling piece of crap they called hostel, to sleep and forget about the cockroaches that I was sure were all around that place, but she was hungry. I got really mad at her, I was mad at the whole world. At the end we were both pissed off.
Those were cool times. Should've been hot I guess.
The reason for this rant is that I found some old photos. That beach and the candles...