I have always felt so much older than I actually am. In my mind
I'm planning floral arrangements, matching china and dreaming
of the art, books, and textiles that will litter my
future apartment - charming, sophisticated, chic.
I've come to a point in my thirty-something mind where
I can fully appreciate the beauty of things. Unattached
from the interests of my romantic younger life
I've redeveloped a love for my senses: cashmere, the
scent of the perfect soap, an exquisitely mixed
To grow old isn't so terrible after all.