Friday, July 18, 2014


Elisa is a flawless revelation in her monochrome bikini, catching the afternoon's final sunlight on the balcony while I count beads of sweat like raindrops on her back.

She glows in airy lightness, the obviousness with which she turns toward me and speaks, how she says something, anything, whatever. I'm in the shade under layers of linen, an arm's length away from the hypnotic smell of coconut oil. Day by day passes by in our ever expanding bubble while I relate to my most important discovery over the last few weeks being that pale is better when it comes to rosé wines.

We make plans of vanity to keep from remembering, vaguely imagining a different future is the only drug that really works for me, the only high that lasts. Tomorrow is just hours away and I picture myself in ivory silk from Dior, my heels perforating the streets of Monaco with Henry at my side, his arm steadily around my waist in the golden sunset. We will be diamonds and stars and nobody will know who we are but everyone will wonder.

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