vs. Nurture

Early morning, Stockholm quiet in the slight haze and no people in the street except dog walkers. I ran across the square --I'm always late-- and rubbed my tired eyes as I made my way onto the boat. We sat in the wind, snuggled under a blanket and giggling, as it made its way out of the city harbor and into the archipelago beyond. 

There's a silence by the sea that permeates your every pore. There's the rhythmic lapping of waves against the cliffs, the screech of gulls a hundred feet in the air, the low murmur of boats between the islands, but beyond that, there is nothing. We made our way to a quiet cove, with a few stray boats moored at its edges, and remarked how we weren't made for cities, after all. Spent a few perfect hours finding each other again, remembering who we are with each other, relishing the few moments we have before oceans of time pass between us again. You curse your vagabond heart for always leaving them, for always being so lost that you don't see love when it wraps its arms around you. 

Summer is devastatingly beautiful. Your skin is warm, smells of sunscreen. There is nowhere you would rather be, and you don't have to.