I remember one day in late August or early September,
We woke up before the sun, and crept around the streets
until the bright sun matched the volume of our voices.
The boat was smallish and I wondered about sharks.
I tried to hold your hand.
Or sit so our legs touched,
but you didn't allow this.
The salt collected on my lips and face,
while I tried to not think about how tiny we were in our boat,
in the middle of this big ocean; how deep down the dark water went,
and all the things that lived in it.
The islands emerged as quickly as the mainland disappeared from view.
The water was warm and blue (I'd never seen blue ocean before).
We waded through it,
while it lapped at our hips,
and even our chins,
as we approached a cave.
I just prayed to not feel something graze my legs.
I was so scared.
I'm kind of ashamed of how scared I get sometimes.
My sandals broke within the first 10 minutes of island exploration,
And I left them by the shore.
I spent the whole glorious day