Yesterday was Liberation Day—and while the island celebrated its freedom, I found a little pocket of it myself.
No school, no work. Just space to exhale.
Tilly and I had one of those slow, lovely mornings where time doesn’t bark orders. We stayed in pyjamas longer than necessary, wrapped up in blankets and easy conversation. It’s rare, these unhurried starts. I treasure them more than I let on.
We visited my mum next, a brief but grounding pause before drifting over to Joel’s. The kids—wild things that they are—ran races along the beachside and hunted for sea glass like tiny pirates. I watched them scatter across the sand like dandelion seeds in the wind, and it made my heart ache in the best way.
Later, we sat together to watch the cavalcade—vintage engines, proud flags, and the echo of history pulsing through the crowd. There’s something sacred about that shared silence when the veterans pass. We cheered, clapped, and waved until our hands hurt.
Afterwards, before Luca went to his mum’s, the kids played football and we had ice cream in the sun. One of those golden hours where everything feels like a memory even as it’s happening.
And then came the circus.
Gandeys in full glitter and grandeur. Laughter in the air, candy floss fingers, and those wide-eyed moments when time stood still. Joel on one side, Tilly on the other. My whole world in two seats.
Joel stayed over. It was planned, but it still felt tender—like choosing each other all over again. We had breakfast this morning before he left for work, quiet and warm and full of something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like a glimpse into something more—something lasting. A future, maybe, waiting for us by the water in the summer house we haven’t built yet.
Some days are just days.
But some days… some feel like promises written in sunlight.