long bias slip

An opera for the eyes. A sweet symphony of art amongst the grand ambiance of palaces and prayers. Painted ceilings of the heavens draw my eyes and arch my neck, enticing me to look closer. Bouquets of Italian florals and ethereal cherubs dutifully pose to form a fresco that will captivate congregations for the rest of time.Here, in Italy, I am vibrant and boundless. No plans, just possibilities. Every wrong turn is a detour in the right direction and every misstep is just more magic waiting to happen.In the backstreets of Rome, I scribble love notes to myself and the world on cobblestones and napkins. I unfurl beneath painted ceilings, flanked by flocks of doting cherubs. In Milan, I dance to street musicians playing my song and play the muse for poets and artists.My hair curls and crinkles fresh out of the Amalfi every morning. I leap from too-high rocks into the endless ocean and charm my way onto the backseat of a stranger’s vespa. From Ravello to Positano, to Capri and to Sorrento. An infinite loop of summer sensations.My Italy, Amore Mio.