About a week before the world as we knew it changed, we packed our bags & started our journey to the coast of Portugal. The virus was quickly taking shape & New York City was being abandoned out of fear, but exploring quiet coastal European towns that week, we felt safe. Every day was a new adventure & a new city to explore. We saw castles in Sintra, drove through winding roads in Lisboa, went boating off the cliffs of Lagos, & ate the freshest seafood in Albufeira. The night before our final day in Portugal, family & friends called us at around 2am, saying the borders would be closing & we wouldn’t be able to get home. We panicked, driving straight to the airport at 4am, before finally receiving a call saying citizens would be allowed back in. Thankfully, we still had one more day. The next morning, we found the freshest oranges at a roadside market, bought our favorite Porto wine we discovered at dinner one night, we had cheese & prosciutto & crackers, & we made our way to our secret beach at a place they call ‘The End Of The World’ for a picnic. In the most ridiculous ways, everything seemed to go wrong. The tides were so high, there was hardly any beach left to sit on. The wind was so wild, our food was flying out of our hands & into the ocean. Isaiah got a nose bleed, & as he tried to clean himself up, a wave crashed into him, knocking him into the water. It was ridiculous & non-stop, but with every moment we just laughed, never letting anything upset us. As the sun was going down & our final day was ending, we sat on the rocks with the beach to ourselves, watching the waves crash dangerously close to our feet. We talked about our peaks & pits of the trip, & as I was telling him mine, he stopped me & said that this moment may be my favorite part. Isaiah got down on one knee, with the sun directly in front of us as if it were all ours, & asked me to marry him. It was one of those moments where time stopped, & I cried just as wildly as those waves.