6am. I read my horoscope written in the constellation of your freckles. Unbothered by the light beginning to slide across your clavicle, you sleep on. Through the cracked window I can hear the city beginning to stir. The July air hangs humid but cool, whispering wet-pavement promises. I think: if someone, somewhere is compiling a list of perfect things — Venus de Milo, sheets dried in the sun, cancelled plans — surely this moment will find itself there. Unassuming, but quietly sure of itself, like a road-side peach so ripe its juice puddles sweet in your palm. #darlingescapes #stayandwander #thehiddenitaly #pocketsofmyhome #oftheafternoon #nextjauntmag #interiorwarrior #voyagevoyagemagazine #spilledink #prosepoetry