Chase.

I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights. The waves of colored gas ions light up the arctic skies in blue and red, and I, among the Alaskan pine trees surrounding, watch as they glow and shift shapes. I knew I would be there, hunting the magical forces that create the auroras on trails through the North Atlantic taiga woods. I was destined. I was simply drawn to the pursuit. Nothing can be done to change my direction. The interest has so long manifested within the region of my aspirations, which knows no boundaries as far as appeal is concerned.

Shore.

I've always dreamed of waking up at the dawn of a late summer day, it'd be about 3 or 4 in the morning, or even earlier, for the sun hadn't had its say on the horizon to the east, which was still dazzled with a mixture of deep blue and peachy red. We'd roll up the blinds and yawn so wide it'd break our jaws; we'd load the trunk with just underwear and water guns; we'd let the car windows down and feel the cool breezes on the highway; I'd catch a sleep when you'd drive; you'd tap a thin blanket on me; when I woke up we'd have already stopped, and you'd be smiling, your teeth all shiny and your eyes all shrink to creases. I'd shake my head and open my eyes and definitely feel fresh and alive, as the salty air fluxed in my nostrils exerting a sense of complete release from everything. And as I ran to the shore, pitching sand high up in the air, and finally dipped my feet in the cool water, you came from behind and wrapped your arms around me, the sun rising from the womb of the sea, glamor and gleam, waves crashing, like me crashing in you.