Sunburnt and stiff from a long day driving, I’m home; yet, not wanting to face the realities of vacation’s end, of work and pressure and tasks that want doing, I live still far away, in sun and sand and sea.
I’ve unpacked my things, but can still smell the scent of travel on my skin. There’s still sand in my flip-flops.
I don’t want to be home, and facing life’s little insanities. Always, the trouble with vacations is that they end.