Keep Me, Posted | Ibiza, Spain

I went there to get the wild out and then it got in me. This island of sin and sand that you can’t ever wash clean. You find it, days later, weeks later. Hiding in crevices and waiting in darkness. You cast it away as if it was never on you, it was never yours. And then you find yourself drifting, wishing, flying back to that place to finally absolve yourself, to forgive yourself, to dance yourself clean, to get the wild out.

Or to let it back in.