A letter to my future travel partner
First and foremost, I’m sorry about my hygiene standards. I’m sorry that toilet paper, teeth brushing and frequent clothes/underwear changing will become optional activities. I’m sorry that I’m not going to shave any higher than my knee because quite frankly, leg shaving sucks and I’m on holiday (just don’t touch any higher than there if it bothers you that much). I’m sorry about the snot rockets, the ear wax, the bushy eyebrows, the side-of-the-road bush pees and the nail dirt. I’m sorry that wet wipes will sometimes replace showers and that doing laundry is going to become synonymous with the words ‘pain in the arse.’
I’m sorry about my imminent weight gain. I’m sorry that you’ll have to watch me down several croissants for breakfast, a Pad Thai for lunch and crunch Pringle crumbs everywhere for dinner. I’m sorry that a few months in I’ll probably crush you if I roll over in bed or squash you into the melted Milka chocolate I’ve hidden under your pillow and forgotten about or that you’ll mistake my face waking up late for the moon rising over our bed sheets. That even if we’ve just eaten, I’m still going to want to try that mystery food sold by that guy on the corner. I’m a street food addict, my love, it’s a curse.
I’m sorry that my reckless eating habits are going to land the two of us in some stuffy cubicle somewhere, hurling our guts out over a shitty (literally) hole in the floor. I ask only that you look away as I make a frenzied toilet dash when my stomach is liquefied and bubbling. Bubbling like my skin will when we spend time at the beach and I insist that my skin ‘doesn’t need sunscreen.’ Just think of it as a memory we’ll get to laugh about later?
I’m sorry that I’m probably going to insist that I’m right even when you have proven me wrong. I’m sorry that I’ll always look at maps and know exactly where to go and what will be there even though I probably don’t. I’m sorry about constantly wanting to wander and never wanting to be stopped or still. That sometimes I actually want to get lost and I’m not going to be afraid to drag you with me.
I’m sorry that I’m undoubtedly going to lose something important or valuable, at least for a couple of minutes. I’m going to lose my shit over it, too. I’m sorry that I will make our room messy, that I’m terrible at managing backpack storage, that I’ll end up wearing all of your t-shirts and that I can’t convert currencies. I hope you’ll forgive me when I get accidentally drunk and probably be incredibly shit to you and run away or cry or something. I’m sorry that I’ll never remember to put my wallet on the top of my bag, that I’m probably going to get in some sort trouble for hostel kitchen/fridge kleptomania and that I’m never going to share my headphones with you on long trips. Ever.
Please forgive me in advance?
All, all, all my lovin’
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