It was the decision of a moment. I did not stop to think of it, to question whether it was sensible. Buttons undone. Ready to jump in. Within seconds my body was clothed by the warmth of the sea alone. Childlike in my freedom. Regaling in the naughtiness of it all: midday, beyond the pale. A first.
To be repeated. That was the promise that I made myself that day.
There’s only one way: the Greek way.
GMT, meaning according to vicbriggs’s fictionary:
1. Greenwich Mean Time or “how the British made sure time does not start in Paris” – one of many moves to peeve the French.
2. Greek Maybe Time or “what’s your hurry? Stop and smell the olives. Life will pass you by while you’re trying to make it.”
Know what? Think I prefer the second one.
This is Vic-Vic-Vic.
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