esmé's been packing her own satchel for our upcoming holiday. i've been unpacking said satchel every night, only because i'm quite certain her popsicles and salami sandwishes will not make it to saturday.
as for me, i'm packing this suit in white and this one in dark fog. plus a few black dresses and piles of tomatoes and mozzarella and balsamic. i can't wait for the über simplicity of it all.
last night, i found esmé with a tiny silk bag full of some our most beautiful shells from muscat and taba heights and phuket and probably some other random beaches along the way.
why would you pack shells? i asked, shaking my head and thinking popsicles weren't so silly an option anymore.
the look she threw me was honestly one of the purest i've ever seen. overflowing with...i don't know...care, maybe.
i want to take them back to the sea, she shrugged.
i'm letting her.
paul schmidt's work makes me hum. i may see you again before my birthday, but if not? happy fourth. be sure to sing the anthem at least a few times loudly. i cry every time, don't you? xoxo.