We lived in an Evelyn Waugh novel today, took each others hands and walked through botanical gardens hidden between ruinous industrial areas. We talked about art, wine and the beauty of heartbeats. We crowned our fairy queen and listened to the conversations of people walking by as we wanted to remain in silence.
We were magical creatures, beautiful with that epicene quality that sang aloud for love and withers at the first cold wine.
It may not have been the first day of an early summer, but it was the first day unburdened by the echo of a long lasting winter.
photography of days like literature and pastel ice-cream-dreams: