day thirteen: [the last days]
on the last of my days i prepared for coming home. i was taking the red eye back on the 30th, arriving in new york on new years eve afternoon, and djing that night from ten until five in the morning. i needed to get music together, as well as wrap my head around the exit. i spent a few hours a day getting music together on my laptop, then as the sun rose into the sky and the tide waned on the beach i would slip into my shades and make room for some relaxation.
we never made it to Hana. the seven sacred pools remain undiscovered by me. though we did hike up a soft mountain and i did sink my legs into a running river. we went to dinner a few more times and everyday dipped into the ocean.
one night, drunk on love and the warm air and a bottle or two of wine, we went skinny dipping. the beach was empty and dark and we left our clothes just outside the surf. the water was comforting on our skin and we held each other and giggled and looked out onto the dark horizon. afterward we gathered up our things and took a drive out to the point to watch the stars in a light rain.
the final day i was there we went to a place called blowhole and the wind howled without mercy and the genius of the ocean crashed all around us. the mud was red and wet and stuck to our shoes and splattered on our legs. there were strange rock formations that she told me were made by ghost of hawaiis' past. on the mountain looking down we saw a grave and beside it a pair of old sneakers and the picture of a young boy smiling. we frowned at it and sighed. thats a shame, she said. it began to pour rain and we stayed for a few minutes longer looking at the sea and the waves and the sneakers. then we piled into the car, our legs covered in mud, and chased the sun for one last time.