there's a saltwater seal on the jar of your ashes

i need the smell of hot tar and warm wood planks beneath my feet, sand gritty against the flat of my foot where i have no arches. i need quarter telescopes that are jammed up with gum, leaving the tourists dissapointed and disgusted. i need to hear a the baloon pop! and then the squeal of the heroine as the hero hands her the prize he just won. i need sunblock, water wings, flip flops. lemonade. i need naturally curly hair as the salt spray sets in. the fae in me needs to fly.