Paradise
When a plane crash steals almost everything, you grip what remains and fuck it until paradise is made of ruin.
The sunsets on this island don’t just fade—they transform, spreading their colors slow and deliberate across the sky. Magenta melting into lavender, lavender bleeding into gold, all of it mirrored in the steady glass of the sea. During the day, that sea is blue. Not just blue—endlessly blue, stretching unbroken from horizon to horizon, so vast and untouched it feels more like a painting than something real. And for all th...