Here days are not marked by time.
The rustling of sheets from her arising is my alarm, followed by the bitter flavor of the first espresso of the day: the only non-sweet element of life here.
The sun at the zenith, the lack of shadows and the burning skin, reminds you that you should be hungry.
The feeling of nicotine relaxing your body eases your steps in the sand. It must be afternoon.
When the white part of a crashing wave becomes yellow, it is time to head home to watch the sunset. More wine and more food prepare your body to fall asleep. Darkness has nothing to do with it.
A ping pong match in the piazza ends the day. When the same rustling of the sheets that woke you up ends in a last kiss, the day is over.
Living without time: moments, memories, and emotions mark the day, not the precision of hours and minutes.