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“The aura given out by a person or object is as much a part of them as their flesh.”
—Lucian Freud
A few weeks ago in Mallorca, I found a quiet rhythm. Each morning I’d sit in a sun-drenched beach café — one of those relaxed, sandy-floored places that blurs into the shore — sipping an Italian cappuccino while watching the wide-open beach stretch out before me. The kind of place where the air is soft, the light close and everything moves just slow enough to remind you that you're alive, that life is always animated and animating.
Each day a stray black cat would appear like clockwork, weaving through the tables and brushing against my ankles. She’d always find her way to me —sometimes for a stroke, sometimes for five. But what struck me most wasn’t her charm or even her feline confidence. It was her aura. That…
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