Oh to be on South Beach.

To watch the crowds, feel the music pumping from every bar down Ocean Drive. To see the skin and smell the margaritas.

Oh to arrive at a hostel find a small café, a bar by the pool, loungers and palm trees galore.

Oh to be in Miami.

To have the sand stuck in the cracks and creases, to duck under the waves and rinse it out; to get torrentially rained on but in such a warmth it feels delightful. To let clothes turn sheer and hair slick to shoulders. Oh to be on South Beach.

To meet two girls, one travelling, one partying, and gossip without judgment. To know your best friend will be joining you and you will transition from travelling to partying. Oh to have the best of both worlds.

Oh to be in Miami.

To have decided early on the barista with the slight South American accent and shaggy black hair was an attractive feature of the city. To order one too many coffees and hold up the line with conversations about politics.

Oh to be young and free on South Beach.

To go shopping with your best friend and buy whatever feels right without second thought, to not think about consequences or the future. Oh to party in Miami.

To look for the high, to drink and dance, to move to one-star hotels and use sheets for blankets.

Oh to find who you want at the bar and stay the night.

To fly home brown and red, still drunk, happily laid; to still be wearing dirty new clothes at JFK.

Oh to be in Miami.