Wow, what a week and one that left me sleepless, stressed and with little time to come here and share. I’ve cancelled an abundance of coffee dates with men I am yet to know. And then there are the men afar I’d happily flex my schedule for, which makes me wonder if I’m just waiting for the ones not around. I wore all my new bras. I have 3 of the chunky SD cards bloated with shots photographed this week. I’ve sighed at my emails, wondering why PRs on a regular salary expect me to work for free. There were the multiple very cheap bouquets of daisies and a few new books in the mail. Sandals were on my feet for the first time this week. There is a new very tall, very muscular Brit at my gym and I’ve been wondering how to talk to him. I had chocolate mousse from a mason jar at a cute cafe with Marta. I’ve marvelled with friends, neighbours and strangers alike at this summer-like weather. The pale tourists are already darting around in shorts with that high-season pickpocketing phobia wide in their eyes. Fleeting thoughts towards sangria and perhaps a finally appropriate peek into my swimwear drawer. Summer feels but a beat away and I for one am yearning for all the adventure to come, perhaps too zealously but then again, everything I feel and crave comes only in excess waves.
what i’m wearing: mango outlet khaki tank top, oysho black bra, glamorous flared black jeans, public desire snakeskin mules, h&m earrings & mango raffia bag
And all these more lovely moments were the confetti that sprinkled through the seemingly endless hours in front of my computer, slurping dark coffee, rubbing my eyes and yearning to be sun-basking outside. Not that I went without vitamin D, my tan seems to have deepened, even more evidently against these lush palms that felt dark and cool on this summer day despite the March date. It was 22 degrees. Both my feet and my bosoms felt free, speaking of so does my soul. Being single, sans hombre (I managed three languages there) is a liberation. Not having the burden of someone else’s emotional junk on my shoulders is a release quite like a peek of side boob down the street. At this rate, I might forego both bras and boyfriends entirely. In fact, I suppose the underwire of a bra is how I currently feel about relationships: supportive but equally, uncomfortable. Besides, who covets either in the summer anyway, right? It’s too hot for things to be clutching at me. Let me be. This shall be the season I roam free.
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