Finding paradise in Koh Lanta, Thailand.
Again came just five days later. Gabriel and I arranged to meet in Koh Lanta, a nearby Thai island, where we rented a bungalow for three nights on a quiet beach. It rained. A lot. But there was just enough sun for swimming, for lying in the sand, for watching half a sunset. And the storms were just an excuse for enjoying nights on our porch, drinking whiskey and soda, listening to music, dancing. Our own little paradise.
Saying goodbye was harder this time. There’s the vagueness of possibility that we could meet again. Maybe in Cambodia or Vietnam or India. Maybe in Barcelona or Venezuela or Chicago. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
And, while I hope that we do, I guess I can’t hold my breath. I know I have to keep traveling, keep moving. We both have our destinations. And we both have our own stories to finish. And whether those stories will include each other, I guess, is now up to fate.
Or, at least, that is what I keep having to tell myself.
I did cry, a little, after he kissed me good bye, after boarding my bus, as it drove away and I watched everything get smaller in the distance. But this little gringa is trying not to be sad to have left him, but to be happy for the time we had together. And trying to just be hopeful. Because, no matter what may come, we had three amazing days in our own little paradise.