metal eyelet kaftan

The slow bustle on the beach begins in the mid morning sun. Sun chairs sprawled in their designated patches, ready for a day of observational gossip. Umbrellas bloom like flowers one by one, creating a united orchestra of colour along the shoreline. An Italian summertime ambience swirls, a symphony of lively laughter, sea breeze and unassuming hum of boat motors in the distance. As the sun softens and dips, children line up for lemon granita while the adults retire for a Spritz. A postcard moment we will all repeat tomorrow.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.