The great lakes would swallow you,

the ocean not know you're there.

The Finger Lakes will cradle

and expand your life, and share.

Water a mile across.

Water an hour long.

Water white-capped in the wind

and glass at night when it's gone.

Stand beside it with some wine;

drink its bounty deep.

Smell and gaze and hear and taste.

Feel its breadth, then sleep.

The heat of the blazing sun beats down upon the sands

On the beaches along the coast of Mexico’s Cancun.

Lazy days, drinks in hand, it’s where life has no demands;

Summers like these are few and never come too soon.

Sailboats drifting swiftly across the crystal blue waters

While a multitude of peddlers sell homemade wares.

There’s nothing as wonderful as this side of the border

Where the people are so kind and beyond compare.

Nights under the stars with the soft sound of waves,

Colors of music drifting to fill the hearts of all.

It’s something for which my soul will always crave

And with the utmost fondness shall always recall.

The lush heat and beauty of Mexico’s coast compels

And beckons to me in summer, weaving me in its spell.

We knew it was going to be a hot day. The previous day was hot.

We woke up lying on top of the duvet, both sweating, the sun fighting the curtains, and winning, compelling our eyes to open.

It woke him up just enough to turn over.

It woke my just enough to remind my sleepy head of the plan we made before sleep took us both.

I pushed at his back, "Come on, get up"

"hum" was his reply.

"Come on, get up, before it hot" It was hot already, we both knew that.

He needed reminding of the plan. Through a yawn I told him.

"We don't have to go."

But I was awake now. Too awake to just lie there.

I got my butt out of bed, which forced him to do the same.

In the car the temperature display kept creeping up, "maybe this isn't such a good idea." I started to question my actions, sleep still in my eyes and lingering in my stretches.

The radio told us to say inside, it was going to be the hottest day. "Lets just get breakfast, go back home." I stared to wonder what we would be doing if I had forgot about the sleep filled plan made in the cooling night air. We would be lulling in our bed, he would be holding me loosely, kissing on my neck, my hands drawing patterns on his skin. We would just about to start our morning routine, the one we had found our selves falling into on days we had nothing early planned.

"We are half way there now, We anit going back." He said. His eyes questioning me, are you serious. I'm always changing my mind, this time I was just bit too late.

We walked from the parked car, the sun shining down, not a cloud in the sky.

Soon the path gave way, I stopped to take my shoes off, putting my feet deep under the warming sand. We found a little shade by way off sand dooms, and set up a temporary camp; we both know we wasn't staying long, that was the plan.

We stripped, we ran, the sun beating down, sweat beading on our skin, a sea breeze caressing our bodies, the sand shifting consistencies.

The water brought a gasp to my mouth, lapping over my feet, as I waded in up to my thighs. He was doing the same, the shock on his face made me laugh. He splashed me with water in a childish way as the waves come up to my breast.

Together we embraced the cooling sea water, on the hottest day of the year.

The relaxing comforts of a good audiobook is an underrated joy. When engaging in the slow activity that is reading, it's easy to forget the atmosphere. Finding a proper place to read is as important as doing the same for studying. However, there's a difference between the two, a big difference. Studying for an exam is a focused task, something that requires a quiet room, few things in it to distract, and few features in it to enrich your mind in what is not the test material. A sterile place I wish to not return. My exposure to it is why I recognize the value of books, especially ones to be consumed audibly.

I can't think of a more satisfying memory than sitting in a swinging chair outside my Florida apartment. On this day the wind brushed past me in perfect intervals, not too hot, not too cold, and not too hard. This is a rare occurrence in the state's often brutal heat. I recall listening to Dave Grohl's autobiography. It was nothing special, but something about that afternoon drew me in. Motel style buildings surrounded me. Each one had three stories and were colored yellow, green, and blue in succession.

My eyes focused on an unfinished paint spot when Grohl came through the headphones in his somber musings. He was backing out of joining his local band Scream. A while later he'd returned to them during a gig and taken their offer. My gaze shifted to the yellow foam sticking out of the wall on a higher story. He'd started touring, putting around the U.S in a congested van. The thing looked and smelled like sweaty hard bunks in my head.

Dave left his old band, eventually. It came in a phone call inside a sinking California house. Nirvana offered him to be their drummer. The rest is history from there. I lay on my back looking up at the large trees. They smelled like harsh rotting sap and shed their leaves before the clear sky. Kurt Cobain had passed away. The chair rocked me back and forth as two squirrels climbed up the trunk of a nearby tree. Peat moss brushed its bark as I continued to look up. Grohl went on about the losses he'd experienced throughout his life. I almost choked up, which is rare for me.

There was something about that day. A flow. Something that put me into full focus. Moments like that come out of nothing. They turn into a satisfying rhythm, like a song I know will play on the radio. Every movement of the eyes, hands, and body has meaning, every word coming to my ears, every lizard that crawls up the chair, every moss strand that waves in the wind. They are all messengers with their cryptic directions telling me things only I can decipher, or try to at least.

All I can do is sit back and listen. Have my gaze travel undulate on the painted stories though the chapters of a man's ups and downs. There's nothing better to do than savor the now, and savor it intently. The outdoors is like that sometimes, more engaging than a wall, but not distracting. Its goings and comings move with the words. I was watching the mundane go by and it was gorgeous.

I sucked at bowling. I didn't care. I liked the way you smiled when my ball went straight in the gutter. The way you gave me a high five anyways.

By the time we finished our two games, the sky was dark and rain flooded the lot. We ran back to the car, our shirts soaked. We laughed ugly in the front seats watching the last episode of Stranger Things. I leaned over the center console to rest on your shoulder, when you suggested moving to the back.

The phone rested against one of the plushies you stole from a claw machine. I laid sideways while you sat upright with my head on your chest. Your arms were warm. We talked throughout most of it and when it finished we watched Kenobi but if I was being honest, I have no memory of that episode.

You tickled my face with pecks until I turned and pecked you on the lips right back. We had kissed maybe twice before but not like this. Not this many. Not this slow. Our nervous hands remained at each other's necks. Smiles in between hot breaths. You were gentle. Like I might break if you kissed me too hard.