We're going on a trip. I'll bring the wine and that wicker picnic basket you found in a thrift store and gave me for my birthday. I'll drive. Most likely I won't be wearing any shoes, but probably you won't either. Let's roll down the windows and let the wind turn our cheeks pink and laugh at things that we haven't even said out loud. And you can make snow angels in the sand and I will flash the dolphins and our hair will look, crazy, crazy, like gypsies, like runaway jungle children. Let's take naps. And eat sandwiches cut into triangles and walk along the edge until our feet are soft again. And let's make wishes and throw them into the sea and send them to the people way on the other side, looking at the same water and waiting to hear a secret.
That will be our trip.
This is Vault's: