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The seagulls cawed in the sky, flying about in circles. The wind was warm, damp, and lovely. The waves softly brushed Elias' feet, the sound of the tree palms swaying through the wind, and the world, at least, in this very quiet beach were painted in a beautiful orange that made the world worth it to live in a while longer, a scene that made even the most tired of revolutionaries weep, as they remembered why they continue to fight, to continue the bitter struggle of becoming. Especially in a world that wants the chick to die in the egg, the magpies continue to fly free, to harmonize and weep. To love and to become. Elias turned around, compelled by a soft tickle of another hand that dared to brush on him. He grinned like a fool as he came closer to the other.
Ibarra's stomach tickled as he felt the caress of Elias' light stubble and beard, Light as a feather, his gaze remained on the man, his facial muscles straining from the amount of time he spent smiling. He had spent his life up till this moment, fighting, struggling, bitterly, against or with the mud that stained his feet, for freedom, for liberty, for love. And yet, all that remained in between them was the Mestizo's own hair that dared to tickle his eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly.
The friars often believed that Heaven was to be earned for, to enter God's eternal kingdom and step into Paradise. Yet, the world was oh so ugly, perverse, and nonsensical, that it makes the concept of paradise so impossibly unreachable. Like a palace in the sky, the gateway to eternity. Humanity sought perfection, humanity doubted, reasoned, tempted the devil to imperviously imitate the divine's whims into their eternal suffrage of sin.
Humanity built cathedrals maybe out of fear or out of a desire for the grand, but to them, the cathedral of the world wound together with man was enough. Maybe revolution could wait. Maybe revolution already happened. It doesn't matter anymore. The two found each other in a place meant to be, not mandated by a god, or a devil. This was their eternity, that orange dream that dims and wanes, but will forever shine like gold to those who have seen and remembered the night.
Everything, became one. A place became home. The world became lovely. High and low became equals. If this was not the eternity and paradise people believed in, then let it become the revolution that realizes the world. The wishes of the past have become the gates of tomorrow, and in this way, the ants that scurry in the soil have become as eternal as the birds that reached that unreachable veil. Him and Elias has found God and their eternity. In their wounded, shattered homeland, their mother weeping as cracks and crevices has shattered her identity into a million pieces, and yet, they found heaven.