Naples, 7am

7am. I bite into the purple flesh of the day. Leaving the brittle bones of the hour at the breakfast table. I escape the morning traffic; the crowds that congregate the markets outside my apartment. Once I’m out of the city centre, I reach the Lungomare boulevard and start running. Running, running, running. My feet hit hot pavement, killing the engine of time. 7am and the air is already heavy and thick with dust.

Via Partenope rises to meet me and I continue along the promenade— racing the rising sun. I paint the canvas with the memories so that I may come back to it now. Mount Vesuvius reigns over the bay. The early-morning mist migrates over the foggy Mediterranean waters. Shards of sunlight coruscate the sea’s surface. Silver stars carpet the small waves— tantalizing the sweating figures traversing the scorched esplanade. I taste salt in the air and on my lips.

On my way home to Via Pignasecca, I stumble along the slate cobblestone of ancient avenues. I’m drinking plenty of water and still never enough. Soon I’ll sunbathe on the rocks with the bronzed Neapolitans. There will be time enough to ripen and rot under the sun. For now it’s 7am.That old familiar ache returns to me. A seasonal ailment of sorts. The amorphous sadness of summer lodges itself in the small of my spine. It comes with my sunburn— the skin I can’t reach. 7am and I sink my teeth into new fruit. 7am and I’m sedated by the quiet chaos of these sites. 7am and life was never stale. The morning glistens and with laboured breaths, I inhale.