God I’m fucking thirsty.

Thirsty for the moment swollen, confined feet, castaway their shoes and spread toes wide on foreign sands

For islands that are remote to tourists, so boats dock in the ocean, and your back is laden with bags, shoes clasped in hand while jumping hip deep into tropical waters to wade to shore

For scooters that break on the way back from Jurassic cliffs, and locals pick you up in the back of their trucks, feeding you stories and local rum

For impromptu singing sessions with hidden stars jamming to Tracey Chapman outside makeshift bars,

For nights that are too hot to sleep even in bamboo huts, so you lie on a bed of grass under a thousand stars,

For excruciating climbs down to empty beaches, almost dying twice but never being happier to have completed, and leaving only your footprints on pristine banks, while the waves crash and reassemble only for you

God, keep me thirsty.