I suppose it all started in Naples. In a trash filled street, garbage bags overflowing and spilling in to the road, he took my hand in his and we started to walk. I was so new to everything then. Wide eyed, viewing the world through rose tinted glasses, and when I looked back later on all I could remember was the feel of his lips on mine, his heart beating against my palm as my hand curled on his chest, his back arching and the breathing, slow and synchronised in the silence surrounding us. We could lie there for hours in that stillness. The occasional shout or the distant sound of traffic from the narrow road five stories below drifted in with the warm air, parting the light curtains and twisting across the room. The comfort we made for ourselves was punctuated only when he had to leave for work at a bar in the heart of that run down, treasured city. It was at these points that I would slip out of bed, padding with bare feet across the cool tiles through the small apartment to shower. A small terrace gave me views of the city so carefully laid out below me and as I stood and let the sunlight play across my face and dry my skin I smiled to myself. I had always expected things to last forever, always grasped on to love too hard and stifled it in the dark hollow of my clasped hands. But just for a moment as I was stood there with hair dripping water down my back I felt timeless, beautiful, and so incredibly free.