don't look at me .... i'm shy and ashamed ... beautiful comm made by my sweet friend @/ kwii.k1 on insta ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ her art is so lovely ! ! <3 she also graced me with a doodle of my bllk s/i that i must share :3

[st jean cap ferrat] [june 21, 2026]

la liste pour le marché, mon mari, mon 𝓣,

5 or 6 peaches

the small bruisey ones, the kind monsieur at the corner stand told us were trop mûres pour vendre and gave to us yesterday for next to nothing! you ate two on the walk back and let me eat the third out of your hand, here, on this very rented terrace, and laughed when i kissed your wedding band and the juice gilded my chin. then you kissed it away. then you kissed me properly. so, i shall remember the taste of it! and thus, of you! for the rest of my life. so. five, perhaps six. i think we are allowed the indulgence.

basil

for the windowsill. it’ll die within the week because i always overwater the things i love, but i’d still like to try.

ugly tomatoes

the prettier ones never taste of anything. you taught me that, the first summer i visited you in osaka, when i picked up the most beautiful tomato at the market and you took it from me, and replaced it with a lopsided thing that tasted of sunshine.

you always see what i do not, and it only makes me love you even harder!

a pomegranate

i saw it at the stall this morning and my breath caught a little, tabi. you know why! it is your fruit, mine and yours and ours, the one you split open in the kitchen the morning you said then i guess june’s ours now, huh? and now june is ours, truly, and there’s a ring on my finger and my name sitting in front of yours and i think of you every time i see a pomegranate. the woman at the stall asked me if i wanted it for a tart or a salad, though i didn’t have the heart to tell her i wanted it only because it reminds me of my husband.

salt

to add in our tea.

napa cabbage

kimchi (as spicy as we can find, out here on the coast of france)

thinly sliced pork belly

silken tofu

enoki, shiitake

gochujang

dashi

green onions

perhaps i shall tell you a secret! i’ve been practising, before the wedding. i wrote down everything i could remember of the way your mother showed me one afternoon in osaka a few moons ago, when she let me into her kitchen. i shall make it for you tonight! and either you will tell me it is right or you will not, and either way i will be undone. the greatest wish i have is to feed you the things that taste of your childhood.

is it selfish of me to want to be a place in the world that is home to you?

pimento olives

you pretended not to like them, do you remember? and then i caught you eating half the jar standing at the counter at midnight in only your linen trousers, the moon coming in through the window onto your back. this seems to be a letter full of revelations, for you did not know i watched you from the doorway that night, because i did not want you to stop.

i’m rather greedy about you, i think. i’m only beginning to understand just how much...

flowers

whatever they have at the end of the row or on sale! the half-wilted ones. i know, you’ll roll your eyes and think, coco, we’re on our honeymoon, we ain’t playin’ house! but still, i should like the table to have something upon it. and besides, we are playing house, a little, aren’t we? the loveliest game. the one i’ve wanted to play with you since i was twenty-two and you sat in my chair at the café downstairs over the course of half a year, and i did not yet know your name.

a small piece of poached chicken from the rotisserie

for our pomme, naturally, since she has been so good. as i write this out, she is asleep upon your shirt as you sleep upon the daybed... is it horrible of me to admit that i’m rather jealous of her at times like these?! to fit so perfectly over your heart... jealous, but only a little!

my dashing groom, my husband, mon mari, mon mari... i write it out over and over, sound it out over and over to see if it will start to feel real!

but then you come into the kitchen barefoot, with sleep lingering in the corner of your mouth, and lay your chin upon my shoulder, and thumb at the ring on my finger, and read this list over me, and murmur—peaches again, sweetheart?—and i think, oh, it is real. i am his, and he is mine. the small bruisey ones, the kind that are too ripe to sell.

je t’aime. je t’aime à en perdre la tête. j'ai épousé un homme qui aime les tomates moches et le sel dans son thé, qui sait fendre une grenade sans en perdre une seule perle, qui m’embrasse au bord de la mer comme si personne ne nous regardait, et moi, surtout moi, et je ne sais pas ce que j’ai fait pour mériter un été pareil. mais je le prendrai tout entier.