I’m counting down the days until my next getaway, dreaming of hazy days spent on foreign shores. The kind where you wake up at a leisurely 11.34am to the sound of seagulls and can’t bring yourself to mind the grainy bits of sand in your sheets.
Before noon you’ve already gone from bed to beach, walking barefoot against warm pavement with an overstuffed raffia tote thrown over your so-tanned-they’re-almost-burnt shoulders. Drinking up smells of neroli, salt air, and sunbathers drenched in Ambre Solaire, you wish you could live some version of this day on repeat, switching up your destination every so often at whim.
