Palpitating hearts do not feel distance, do not suffer differences in language, culture, customs and traditions.
Palpitating hearts do not listen to advice, do not care about tomorrow and their wallets.
And by God, that someone still in this world of artificial intelligences and crafted idiocies (still AI they are...) there is still someone who throws himself into the deep end. 
The data say it: the e-mails we receive, and have been receiving again, copiously and gradually after the end of the pandemic, the requests for visas to Italy from presumed and probable partners 'disguised' as domestic helpers, seasonal workers, carers, students and schoolgirls (especially the latter, who would not change their inclination...).
This is said by the low season adventures on the coast, which are less numerous than those of the tourist crowds on the beaches but much more visible.
The effusions of forty years apart in a half-empty local restaurant, who knows why, are much more cinematic and strike the eye and the imagination of the spectator.

When the spectators are then the same age as the Kenyan protagonists, the principle (and sometimes the need) of imitation is triggered in them.
Walking hand in hand in parallel with a society that tries to abstract itself more and more from reality, that candidly invites and does not turn its nose up at Onlyfans subscriptions and overwhelms with fears those who still seek a skin-to-skin relationship, a direct confrontation, even if through the google translator, the vanilla-chocolate ice-cream couples (the ones you want to make them last, in the equatorial sun they melt) begin to like me.
They go, they pass, they don't care who mocks them, and in the world of those who commit suicide or sue over a comment on social media, they are pure resilience. As Louis Armstrong sang, 'every step of the way will bring us together, with all cares behind us, far away.
We have all the time in the world just for love. Nothing else, nothing less than love'.