There are only three things in front of me – a stretch of sand, the sea and her. She is shimmering in the mid-morning light. The sunshine radiating off the waves reflects in her golden hair, blinding me as I look at her angelic figure against the dusty sand and emerald ocean. Her tender body forms a shadow, obstructing the refracted light, so that a line of light embellishes her, making her more ethereal, more unworldly, than I know her to be. Heaven cannot be a real place, metaphysically speaking, and yet as a child I would dream magical dreams about the place beyond the sun. I would see blue skies and white mist and cherubim and seraphim floating masterfully across the brilliant blueness of the eternal light. When I picture those angels now, I only see her.

I breathe in the sea-salt air, let the atmosphere fill my nostrils and my mind and get out of my deck chair to make the trek towards her. I feel the pads of my feet singe against the burning hot sand and prance towards this heavenly being double-step, towards the light.

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