A tall, dark and handsome gentleman that sweeps you off your feet in the moonlit eve, carrying you off to his motorbike to let you ride through the darkest tunnels, a mixture of dust, lust and laughter shimmering in your trail.
Bottles and vases and jars perched on a wooden shelf filled with scents and tastes of ultimate desire, all higgledy piggledy in a squint little row.
Caressing waves as you dip your toes in the sand to be tickled by mysterious sea creatures and sharp, but comforting shells.
Daydreams that you alphabetise in a butterfly notebook that lies at the bottom of your bag, so that you can later share them.
Early morning walks through the forest that lead to the beach filled with secret coves that contain many, many secrets.
Friends from far and wide simultaneously making the decision to all move to the same place at the same time. Forever.
Green emerald grass as far as the eye can see, on all four sides.
Heart-shaped leaves that begin to sprout whenever two destined strangers kiss for the first time.
Iceland adventures in a pair of crimson hiking shoes with a nose to match.
Jams made from fresh Scottish berries from a dusty old recipe, scrawled in delicate handwriting by your dear Grandmother, sealed with that signature sweet kiss.
Kisses that linger for days and leave you in a daze.
Love letters delivered by hand, love letters hidden in trees.
Movies on a rainy Sunday under a cosy blanket with an endless supply of irresistible dark chocolate.
Northern Lights, every night.
Opening your eyes and being greeted by bright sun beams shining and dancing across your bedroom floor, urging you to jump up and welcome the day with the energy it most definitely deserves.
Playing on the swings in the place of your birth, flying freely in the breeze, the stars and dusky clouds tickling your eyelashes.
Questioning every little moment of peculiarity and becoming more of a curious creature by the day.
Reveling in the act of nostalgia next to an old suitcase overflowing with spontaneous photographs from those golden days, oh you know those days.
Stars covering every smidgen of sky on a still, balmy evening after a dance in the midnight ocean.
Travel tales shared between sudden strangers in unexpected circumstances, resulting in a friendship that never glides from the pure state of unblemished innocence.
Unicorns and faeries and princesses with long, golden locks; frogs and princes and green-tinted witches: the art of still believing.
Vietnamese as starter, Italian as main, Belgian as dessert, on a picnic blanket with teacups of pink tea, accompanied by bird song and a plethora of butterflies.
Wanderlusting until the end.
Xylophones in shades of rainbow, harps finely-tuned, a guitarist with green eyes and a baby grand piano.
Yurts in the grasslands of Mongolia housing the most hospitable of hosts, with a gaggle of giggling geese at the front and a herd of Yak grinning in the back.
Zebras chilling on a nearby hill trying to get the attention of the ever-so-elegant giraffes gossiping by the bramble bush.
Image sourced from here.