The weekend in St. Tropez

St. Tropez, France. A place of wonder. A place of movies, music videos, joy, sadness, love. A place of the imagination. A place of dreams. This is my weekend in St. Tropez.

Before even opening my eyes, my first morning in St. Tropez, France, I hear waves crashing in the distance. I can smell the salty ocean breeze blowing through my balcony doors, tempting me to never move again. Just stay here, with the gulls crying and the waves crashing. The breeze gently blowing my hair across my face. It tickles my nose.

There’s a gentle snoring behind me. A warm arm under my neck. A warm man behind my back. Another arm draped across my side. So warm. So comfortable. So happy.

The light streaming the doors makes the room bright. I see my bag sitting on the chair in the corner. Little green suitcase with my smiling monkey duct tape on the top handle. I see Brad’s black backpack on the dresser across the room from mine. His bag is empty. He’s put his clothes in the dresser drawers. Something I never do. Don’t see the point I guess.

I feel my stomach feel growl before I hear it. I think some food is in order. Carefully and quietly as I can so as not to awake my sleeping giant I crawl out of bed, slipping on my slippers and robe, and make my way downstairs for some warm breakfast.

The array this hotel has is amazing. Bright pink watermelon next to beautiful pale orange cantaloupe. Strawberries, cherries, blueberries, apples, oranges, star fruit, mangoes, grapes. Everything, all laid out in a beautiful arrangement, like a rainbow of deliciousness. They have a chef to the left hand side of room making omelets as requested. They smell delectable.

My creative speaking has left me for now. I'll finish this one later.