triangular beach bag

In the afternoon, we take a walk to Villa Cimbrone Gardens nestled within Ravello. Stone arches and marble statues offer a canvas for sweeping gardens that cradle the seaside cliffs. Italian roses flourish at every corner, wisteria poetically sways in moments of coastal breeze, petals scatter the terrace where nuptials and professions of eternal love took place.Here, in Italy, I am vibrant and boundless. No plans, just possibilities. Every wrong turn is a detour in the right direction and every misstep is just more magic waiting to happen.In the backstreets of Rome, I scribble love notes to myself and the world on cobblestones and napkins. I unfurl beneath painted ceilings, flanked by flocks of doting cherubs. In Milan, I dance to street musicians playing my song and play the muse for poets and artists.My hair curls and crinkles fresh out of the Amalfi every morning. I leap from too-high rocks into the endless ocean and charm my way onto the backseat of a stranger’s vespa. From Ravello to Positano, to Capri and to Sorrento. An infinite loop of summer sensations.My Italy, Amore Mio.