It’s frigid nights like these that I find myself yearning for warmth the most. My mind travels to places unable to be jotted down or taped on film completely. All I want in the world is a beach vacation. We leave work with $300 dollars each more in our pockets, and the knowledge that our night has just begun. I want a 5-hour car ride, blasting ’90s hip-hop out the rolled-down crank-up windows. The picture is perfect – a shirtless you driving with one hand, not giving a damn that my still-tender red toenails are propped on your dashboard. I want the first sound I hear in the morning to be the ocean kissing the shoreline, and the last sound your flip flops on the chilled concrete on the hotel balcony. I want to scour the streets for the perfect breakfast destination. Once found, you tease me for ordering egg whites in my shrimp and avocado omelette while you opt for the most decadent french toast. The waitress knows we’re lovers when you order two coffees though I don’t say a word. I want you to kiss me on the cheek with a day lily tucked behind my ear. I want a tan to make our old health teacher cringe. I want to travel to the most undiscovered beach on the island and make love, our bodies tasting of salt and virginal-tanned skin. I want you to take me to the hottest clubs in downtown LA, and be proud to show me off to all the tourists and locals alike. I want to wear a little black halter-topped dress with red lipstick and no shoes and eat oysters and ceviche from a little shack. I want to be passionately kissed with no intentions of stopping on a porch balcony on the beach feeling nothing but untainted bliss. I want to fall asleep on crisp white sheets with my feet interlaced with yours, only awaking for the promise of good coffee and a new day.