Venice in November

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about Venice in November. The fog draping the city like a veil, the deserted streets at night, luncheons by the canals wrapped in blankets — it’s a quiet kind of magic.

For years now, I’ve made a ritual of visiting Venice every November. Wandering its labyrinthine streets, defying my lactose intolerance with far too much cheese, and marvelling at the sheer audacity of its architecture.

November in Venice stirs something rare in me — a fragile kind of vulnerability. It’s the city I lose myself in to piece myself back together, the haven I retreat to when limerence takes hold, and the escape I gift myself once the year’s final tasks are laid to rest.

It’s also where I allow myself to indulge — the only drink I have all year, the thoughts I usually banish, and the emotions I try to keep tightly locked away.