There are mornings we dream of rising early, walking hand in hand to the shore, and watching the sun climb quietly into the world. But sometimes, sleep cradles us a little longer, and by the time we stir, the day is already humming. I think of that now—how many dawns we miss without realizing it, how many moments slip past while we’re still tucked beneath the comfort of covers.

Have you ever watched the sky fold itself into gold, as if the day were tucking you in with one last tender touch? That’s what it felt like that evening in Cozumel. The sun didn’t just set—it exhaled. Light streamed from behind the clouds like gentle fingers tracing the edge of a dream. Two palapas stood quietly on the shore, their hammocks swaying in rhythm with the sea, inviting you to slip in, let go, and simply be.

We wandered down Carrer del Marqués del Campo, not really looking for anything—just letting our steps find their own rhythm. Then we stopped. Three wrought-iron balconies clung to the weathered wall, their shadows curling like delicate script. And on the lowest one, two white doves sat side by side, feathers puffed, utterly still. Behind them, the glass shimmered with green—a reflection of trees from the street below, swaying gently, like a whispered lullaby.