About a Girl

An airport is probably the worst place to be for a day. Especially when you’re leaving a place that you’re leaving so much behind. Staring at the people, wishing they were others, wrapping your head around the people you’re leaving behind. I met people that will live on in Rome, they’ll live their lives, they’ll love, they’ll regret, cry, and laugh, when I’m on the other side of the world hopefully doing the same. And the whole experience of living in a city like Rome for a month and some change is that you get to know people, and if you want to, you really get to know them. Which in the moment seemed like a good thing to do, the natural human thing to do, interaction, kisses on the cheek, a friendly ciao when I walked by, but now it just hurts, its painful in the weirdest way. Even though I said, oh yeah I leave then for this place and going to do that, and see this, it doesn’t really matter. When that last day comes and you walk down the stairs or open the elevator door it seems like just for those little moments right then and there that you made them believe that it was never going to be like this. I can go to LA or even NYC for a weekend, or a week and meet people, people that I’ll care about and want to see again. But those places are comprehendible; it’s not as difficult. But Rome, Paris, Barcelona? Those are places that will only live within the time I was there, and the people too. I don’t know there’s no real answer but it seems like when a place and people touch you, and really do, past any fabricated bullshit, hold onto it, and remember it for as long as possible. Because even when I go back, it’ll never be the same, and I’ll always be searching for the same rhythms.