“If I hadn’t met her, I’d have wilted,” he said that morning. An hour later she was gone, as was his mind.
They met across the sand; her magical eyes bewitched him instantly. On their first night, she said to him in a voice tinged with cinnamon and honey, “I love a good story. I hate goodbyes.” It was dark, even the stars fled as she kissed him. He melted in that kiss and he saw the world. Not as it is, but as it should be.
His friends were curious, even envious; they cheered his holiday fling. But now they’re all back home, while he still waits on the sand. At dinner parties or after a pint they can be heard saying, “In the desert a thirsty man sees what he wants the most: he saw her, instead of the blue flowing Bedouins.”