I've always wanted to catch a fish.
To feel that tropical sun beating down on my brow, snuffing out my caucasianity layer by layer, with the headphones of the waves churning through my eardrums. Memories and plans of a shaded drink living simultaneously in my lobes, an unnamed tune living freshly out of ear.
A real fish.
A four-hundred pound marathon of a reel-in, an adventure dredged up from the depths of the deep blue, a seal of Neptune's approval to haul up on deck. A cut of the finest, freshest of the sea's bounty, so clean we'd recruit sushi chefs by the dozens as we pull up to the docks.
A vacation without end. No glimpses of emails or out-of-ear phone calls speaking on tongues and tones taboo to the island we came upon, which includes port towns because who needs more than two directions, anyway?
With a tropical breeze like an IV through my being, the air full of vitamins of another species of living that most get but a glimpse of through their TVs.
I want that.
Isn't it just a ticket away? A rent away?
Why don't we seek this more?
We believe the grass is greener on the other side, but the grass isn't greener on the other side, it's greener where it's watered.
Growing up our parents -- if we were lucky enough to have the or lucky enough to have decent ones-- watered the grass where we stood... or they sheparded us to patches where they were watering, but now that we're adults I think one thing we really struggle to realize and then after that to accept is this reality. We are the ones who are watering the grass.