Paris Photo opens next week and I've decided the city needs to see me again — the suitcase is open and nothing has survived the first round of judging. Pick what I pack first, darling.
Paris Photo opens next week and I've decided the city needs to see me again — the suitcase is open and nothing has survived the first round of judging. Pick what I pack first, darling.
Came to the market for lemons, left with an armful of anemones and a merchant who wouldn't take no for an answer. The coat is doing its best against the November chill — come carry something for me, darling?
The Goncourt jury names its winner today, and I refuse to be out-read — two novels down, the third already winning me over. The blanket abandoned its post an hour ago and I let it. Come turn the pages for me, darling.
Every kitchen in Nice had closed on me, so mine stepped up — dinner served at an hour no cookbook would approve of. Still dressed for the night I planned, heels surrendered on the tiles. Tell me you'd have kept me company at the counter, darling.
I'm still choosing what to hide behind — the mask fits, but everything underneath is negotiable. Would you rather know what I'm wearing, or let it surprise you, darling? 🖤
Vieux Nice keeps its secrets close tonight — warm stone, narrow light, corners that have seen everything. This coat is all that stands between me and the October air. Would you follow me down here, darling, or stay where the light is?
Thursday mornings are for staying exactly where the night left me. Come back to bed, darling.
The saleswoman swore this cashmere was too thin for October. I bought it anyway — and wore it out of the shop exactly like this. Was she wrong, darling?
Sleep gave up on me hours ago, so now it's just me, the moka pot, and a robe that lost the argument somewhere along the way. The sun isn't even up yet — come hold my place until sunrise, darling.
The whole city is asleep and the last of the bottle is out here keeping me company instead. You'd be better company, darling.