❛ YOU AND I COULD BE ONE
AFTER ALL, OUR LOVE COULD
BE SO STRONG, YOU AND I
WOULD NEVER STOP. ❜
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, two music lovers cross paths between one another - not knowing the outcome of their kind of love.
proudest achieve...
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' 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝟐𝟏, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔. ' malibu beach ━━ los angeles, california !
THE SLIGHTEST FEEL OF the breezy wind brushed past the face of the man whom exited from his vehicle. The man traveled his way onto the sandy beach, examining the space he entered.
The sounds of the waves clashing against each other, rising to the beach's shore, alongside the wind filled his eardrums.
The environment he had entered had been the most beautiful sight to have picture upon the background of the particular event. Burning fires burned around the space of where a small ceremony was held.
The sum of thirty to fifty people closest to the man had gathered upon the sandy environment to celebrate the special life that had been Tupac Amaru Shakur.
DeVante scanned the area, in desperate search for a particular woman and their daughter. In the sighting ahead, the man watched as the two people — a mother and her daughter walked the beach's shore.
The small child pointed to the water, to which the two had made their way further into the water.
The man plastered a small smile upon his face, slowly making his way over to the two that he fondly recognized. The mother squatted down to the floor, touching the warmth of the water.
"Hey Mil . . ." The length of the man's figure beside her, had been enough for Milani's assumption to whom it had been.
"Hey DeVante . . . you're here." The soft tone of Milani's voice had spoken above a small whisper prior to her rise merely to her height compared to his own. "I told you I would . . . I wouldn't have missed it."
DeVante looked ahead of him, watching his daughter make her way to him. The child embraced his legs, in which DeVante rubbed her curly hair to return.
Malia had made her way back over to her previous spot, playing in warm water — she hadn't minded the small waves that charged her way, wetting the ends of her white dress.
"Has she talked at all?" DeVante questioned, worrisome evident in the man's tone upon his daughter. The mother sighed in defeat, shaking her head the slightest.
"No . . . not since that night. She hasn't uttered a single word, DeVante . . . our daughter's heart is broken." The collective parents frowned, the sadness in Milani's voice had pained DeVante.
