To go back to paradise. To feel the soft, hot, sun crawl around painted skin. To let the ocean waves tease legs; leave it with a taste of some salty, pungent memory. And to let the warm breeze blow all troubles away. To be able to close eyes and breathe in sweet air that carries away the flimsy scarf against the body. To lay in hot sand and move with music from the headphones, while making marks on the ground like some squirming insect. And to let it make marks on the skin like it’s some celestial pattern. Sand all over the skin, in the corners of the mouth. Sand on lashes and sand tangled up in hair. The taste of grit; pulverized reality. The taste of invigorating lips, refreshing. The feel of sweat; clingy, immersed, surrounding, gratifying. And the smell of musk with it is the smell of gripping love. The ferventness of wild nights and crazy passions. To jump into the ocean and surge with the waves under midnight stars. Obsessions. To play like fish and to love like an amphibian. It’s time to drop everything, and go back to paradise.