There’s something about the shower that feels like a secret rendezvous. The water drips, glides, and lingers, tracing its way down my skin in slow motion, carrying away the day, leaving only warmth and softness. The soap foams in my hands, turning into a silky caress, a little douceur, sweetness, that makes every curve come alive under the veil of steam.

It wasn’t planned, not staged, not styled, just me, naked with the water and the moment. Perhaps that’s what makes it real, that feeling of désinvolture, carefree abandon, of giving in to the simple pleasure of being. A ritual as old as time, and yet, somehow, always intimate, always new.

And about the photos: forgive me, désolée, sorry. They are not crisp, not polished. Hugo only had his smartphone, and we only had the spontaneity of the moment. The grain, the blur, the imperfection, they are part of the story. Proof that beauty doesn’t always need perfection, only presence.

With heat & salted skin,
Juliette 💋

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