I could get used to this sunburn. It’s growing on me, masquerading as blush, merging my freckles into a fake tan.
I could get used to this beach. Its colorblocks of turquoise and navy like a Rothko painting on antidepressants.
I could get used to this me. Wandering for 17 kilometers each day, butchering a romance language, appreciating palm trees as if I didn’t leave South Florida only moments ago.