(all photographs are my own)
wonderful wonderful film.
(Source: iwdrm)
Old people can make you feel so old.
Sometimes I feel so transparent. Not in the sense that people can read you right away, but that they don’t read you at all. As if the real you isn’t even there, and the one they see is some cardboard cut out of some shining apparition that’s just passing through.
Mornings in Roma. This is when the city is most beautiful. Not during the typical blistering summer days with green trees and blue skies, but in the dead of winter when everyone is moving fast to keep pace with the chill creeping up their spines. When you can see your own breath. These early mornings when there are still remnants of the previous night wandering around, and the first of the sleep-walking impiegati board their trains. The rain is lingering in the stratosphere but for now there’s just a sheer fog and a fleetingly ethereal quality to the city’s skyline.
This place is fluorescent and the food is insipid and the atmosphere loud. They play MTV and cheesy old broadcasts. But I love this place. I’ve spent so much time here these past few months. I’ll miss the friends who I was always able to find in their usual spots and usual times here.
shiny wet streets
the courtyard in the fall
when we still went to arabic classes.
dim the lights and it’s a completely different story
I think it’s funny that you can take a picture of people that mean so much to you, but make it look so generic. Make them look like figures completely detached from yourself.
There’s no time for regrets in youth, because as soon as you start fretting, the moments start to slip away. And it’s always the same situation- at the very end you realize how much you’ve taken for granted, and how much you love where you are, and how much you wish you could stay forever. Even though you know you wouldn’t given the chance.
But at least…this way…you’re ready to miss things because you miss them already before you leave.
these nights make all the studying make sense.
northern rome
I want to start here, in my room, with the things closest to me. Everything you partake in starts right here, in this bed where you work and play and relax. Dreams all start in sleep, in the restless moments that drift you into slumber. And dreams are the root of all your thoughts and pursuits in the realm of reality. So here is the beginning. The first grain of a beginning. The first comfort of an idea that becomes so much more.