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You keep imagining it in fragments. A quiet ridge. The soft scrape of your shoes on stone. The wind easing for a moment, like the world is giving you permission. You are not trying to impress anyone.

You keep imagining it the same way. Not a crowd. Just you two, standing in a pocket of quiet where the hills soften the world. You hear the wind move through olive leaves like a slow applause. And for

You keep imagining a place that asks nothing from you. No guest list. No performance. Just the two of you, breathing slower than you have in months. A valley holding its own hush, while the world keep

You keep imagining a place where nobody is watching. No seating chart. No performance. Just wind moving through branches, and that soft, pale bloom that only lasts a few days before it disappears. Som