The sand embraces the skin for one last dance, while the palm trees of an imperfect beauty kiss us with a touch of salty water interspersed with the wind. They are not like any we have ever seen. But Barzin is not either.
Bare feet find others who know how to feel life like them. They are friends. Others are meant to be, though they don't know it yet.
It is natural, spontaneous, like a cushion we throw into a corner where we want to lean against it.
It has the warmth of the sun and the feeling when it says goodbye. It lives by the sound of the waves, like an addiction that you don't want to give up. It has the genuineness of those who speak their own language and the sincerity of those who are what they want to be. There are those who make more of it, but it is happy with what it has.
The music brings the color and flavor of the days that we want to be forever long. And the voices reveal secrets, which although we know are impenetrable, end up being part of our history as well.
There are hands that touch. Others that exchange. They pass glasses with sensations that are drunk, because Barzin was not made to be liked. It was made to be felt.
The stars wrap themselves in the black cloak, but there's no hurry.
The door is always open.
Whoever comes, whoever arrives, Barzin is there. Waiting for a friend to sit by his side...
