In this gap before the night closes and the day begins, it feels as though it can only be me and the baker who are still awake. The sound of him opening the door to let the heat out of his floury prison floats up to my window, followed shortly by the smell of fresh pizza dough, and I realise that I don’t have to be asleep to have my sogni d’oro here in Italy.
living in Florence Italy
This morning I awoke around eight a.m., early for me since my insomnia didn’t allow me to fall asleep until around four a.m. I stretched and felt warm pressure on my right leg. Oliver in his usual place, behind my…