stay up late into the night talking about white sails over cheap wine. Ponder about why there is a gradient of blue that lightens as it hits the horizon, understand briefly that there is a scientific reason, understand that that’s not what I’m talking about.

Because somehow, closer to the coast, the sky gets so blue that it makes me thirsty. Contemplate that, and remark on the seasoning of the salt water, and understand that that’s not what I’m talking about.

When I demand a yacht before a ring, it’s nothing so paltry or physical. My dowry will be that I refuse you until you get it. Until you get all of the reasons why a locked room does not a prison make, and a boat is not free in the ocean. There are sails, and buoys, and destinations, but understand that that’s not what I’m talking about.

When I grow older, do so with me.