Water

All I can think about is water. Being in water, being on water, being 100 feet below the surface gazing up into blue and bubbles. Diving in, paddling through, tumbling in the barrels, gliding above tendrils of foam flecked waves.
It's raining outside and I don't want to get wet. I hide in my cave and look out onto the bay, gray and rippled with wind, salt mixing with fresh, the horizon barely there.
Walking through the puddles and drops isn't quite the same. They run skate dog walk under umbrellas or heavy hoods, wetness covering their eyelashes, squinting into the clouds.
All I can think about is water. On my skin, tangling my hair, wrinkling my fingertips.
It would help to step outside.