You're like water for my soul when I get thirsty...

Today was the first time I looked at my photos from Australia. I got home three weeks ago. It's not as though I had to wait for the film to get developed. I think I was trying not to make myself not drop everything (which is coincidentally nothing) and just leave. I literally couldn't have gotten farther away from home. And it still didn't seem far enough.
I envied the beauty of the people there. Both inside and out. I smiled, introduced myself nicely, and chose not to share the recent past of my personal present. It was almost like the entire continent was too good to spoil with my misery. I tried to keep my peace of mind and soak up as much of the hot salty air my mer-skin would absorb.
It may have just been the sun, the hospitality and kisses on the cheeks from strangers that made me feel as though every waking moment a secret romance now out in the open and free to be expressed. But only deep inside. I never let my emotions out onto my sleeve, never showing my excitement. Allowing each and every moment to bury itself deep inside my unconscious reserved for the right moment to come alive in that moment of appreciation. That moment took place only moments ago.
Never sand so white, nor water so blue, or dreams more possible than those that come to life in the viewing of these images. It really does look like home. I remember taking a photo of a young surfer taking a snooze in his car. I remember feeling so weird as I took the photo. Hoping he wouldn't see me staring enviously through my lense. I tried to be fast and effiecent, but I ended up with a blury image. But an image non the less. In this image I see peace, the exhaustion from passion.I also see ungratefulness. This man has no idea that thousands and thousands of miles away there is literally six feet of snow on the ground. "I've never seen it." Aussie's will say when you describe the apocalyptic weather. They sound envious. Socialized health care, Jack-and-Coke six packs, and line drying clothes. I'm sold. Maybe next year. Until then, Perhaps I will enlarge the photo, hang it on the now empty walls opposite my bed. At least it will cover up the nail holes he left when he moved everything out. I'll wake up every morning, stare into the image, and soak in as much of that salty air as my mer-skin can absorb.