He enters the sea, dives, plays with the waves.
She enjoys that infinite coming and going, a tireless coming and going that resembles that of life.
He sinks his head into the water, smoothes his hair, submerges himself again, lets himself be carried by the current for a few seconds;
He gets up, takes a few strokes, looks at the sun shining in an implacably blue sky, which not even the slightest hint of a cloud dares to break.
She is 6, 7 years old again.
In the midst of that immensity twice, up and down, it could be said that he is happy.
The water, the breeze, the heat of that lightning strike that hits and warms the freshness of the sea, the imposingness of the majestic cliffs... there is in all that surroundings a promise of eternity.
Nature, in all its splendor, offers itself, generous, and almost immutable.
All those elements have been there for years, for centuries, and they will continue to be there when there is little more than a vague memory of her, of everything she wants.
A stab of pain passes through her.
Everything could disappear;
her own life could be undone in an instant, in the next second in the face of the impassibility and indifference of that sea, of that sky, of those gigantic masses of sand and clay that time capriciously shaped.
The wind now caresses his face, like a light and barely perceptible breath.
This moment.
It's just this moment, she thinks.
The waves that break on the shore, that hit against the stone breakwater, seem to repeat it, in rhythm.
Treasure it, take care of it like a precious, valuable, unique jewel.
It is this moment, and nothing more.
Only that exists;
only that counts.
Happiness is an instant.
Happiness is this moment, and it's over, it's over... It's over.