Long haired

I was in love with a long-haired Italian artist who lived in another country. Yes, it was as romantic and dramatic as it sounds :)
I used to lie with my head on his bare chest, my eyes closed, listening to him breathing while he read, trying to bottle the moment so that I could savour it again later when I flew home. I was so aware of how precious those moments were that I imprinted every detail on my brain: the sunflowers on the windowsill, the smell of paints, the feeling of his fingers absently tracing infinity-signs on my spine.
What a lovely memory to get back this Tuesday afternoon, all the way back in Africa :)