Under the Tuscan sun

I would have liked to have a picture of every moment. A snapshot of every single second. Of you and me in the moonlight, swimming beneath the stars, in the Mediterranean. Of you and me, curled up in that small tent in Tuscany -- on a gypsy campsite, with the warm breeze blowing through our hair. Driving miles and miles across the beautiful, rugged Alps -- covering large distances, but feeling so close to it all, and so totally in sync. A five star hotel in Florence, with our very own terrace in the scorching, hot sun. Dinner on a rooftop overlooking the city: you, clean-shaven, boyish -- your eyes twinkling across the table. And that morning, in a lorry park on a freeway somewhere in Italy: chased by flies, ogled by lorry drivers, but laughing, always laughing at it all. Coffee in a little Italian village on a mountaintop: flowers spilling from every balcony as we touched ancient streets and bricks and stones and finally, one of the most beautiful little churches I have ever seen. You, there: petting a beautiful, moon-grey kitten -- even though it was 36 degrees in the sun and the air hurt to breathe. Your lanky frame, your black hair (that had started to turn golden in the sun), your skin, translucent and shimmering in the blistering light. And me: extatic, blissfull and giddy, but as always, with a core of darkness and doubt. Could this be? Can you really be? 

Him. 

Katy Perry – Wide Awake