Wanderlust

Please indulge me in my wanderlust.

Come with me as I explore the world, feel more human than I ever have before. Share my experiences with me. Make memories with me. We won't be tied down. Just you and me and the world. Nothing fancy, either.

Kiss me at the Eiffel Tower. Convince me to go up, though I'll whine and struggle and fear for my life all the way up. I'll thank you later, though I'll lie and say I won't forgive you. We'll stroll around Paris at midnight, and I'll be in love with you and you'll be in love with me, and we'll be in the most romantic city in the entire world.

The only things we'll send home are postcards and photographs, and we'll call from whatever phones we find. 

We'll go to Rome, the city whose word is "sex." We'll eat gelato and pasta and bread until our stomachs ache. We'll throw coins into every fountain we find and bask in the Italian sunlight and at night we'll fulfill a different kind of lust.

Every bridge we find anywhere, we'll kiss on it.

We'll go to Verona, too. Home of the world's greatest love - other than us.

You know how much I love my books. Indulge me living my favorite moments, watch the wonder and the tears of joy in my eyes as my childhood, my dreams come to life in a way like never before. 

We'll go to Santorini and admire the Mediterranean, and we'll whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears in an olive grove. We'll walk down cobblestone streets lined with white-washed houses with vibrant front doors holding hands at sunset.

We'll send our families and friends all our love. No, no, we're not coming home yet. We're not quite done. There's still more of the world to see, we'll say.

We'll cuddle in London. Kilkenny, too. The fog will make us drowsy, but it will still be beautiful. A little water never hurt anyone.

We'll dance together in Spain, and feel the desert sand and sun in Egypt. People will say we're doing it wrong, that we're not experiencing the world properly, but it will be just right. We'll visit places that aren't "tourist" sports, little villages so rich with beautiful culture.

We'll go to Bali and make friends with the locals. You'll put flowers in my hair and I'll write you pretty love poems - as if I don't already. 

Wish you were here, we'll say. We won't mean it, though. Why interfere with near flawlessness?

Eventually we'll go home, though there will never be a pair quite so reluctant as we. We'll hold hands on the flight in our coach seats, my hand squeezing yours tightly in that moment of fear as the plane leaves the ground. We'll fall asleep on the way home, jet lag finally catching up to us, my head on your shoulder, your head on mine. 

We're so glad you're home! Why did you have to stay away for so long?"

Because we weren't ever away.

The End

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