Creative Writing





Italy; beloved.

These are a few captions that I posted below pictures on Instagram, I wanted to share them with you.

Today I bonded with an Italian man over a turtle and ate the most spectacular gnocchi on the edge of the lake. I must hand it to life for not granting me the things that I wanted, because it has allowed me to be here experiencing Italy in all of its glory.

Upon entering churches, I always find myself feeling quite overwhelmed. I don't know whether it's because of the harrowing pianists, the grandeur of intricate paintings in mosaics across the ceiling, the forsaken candles swaying to the cadence of our footsteps or the emptiness of the oak pews awaiting diffidence and sin.

I'm currently on a boat in Venice and I've never felt more alive, infinite than I do in this moment.

I stood at the top of the arena today, felt the souls of those who once performed here, their truths still echoing in the harrowing emptiness of each step. Being contained in a space in which the past still lives was quite magical, the way you could still feel their breath as you stopped to take in the magnitude of it all, or the cadence of your own footsteps against the infinite layers of bricks and the evanescent shadows of your former self metamorphosed into silence.
Verona is more than just a means of revival, it is an embodiment of metaphysical understanding, an amalgamation of the cyclical conception of life and death and everything in between. Verona makes me want to hold on to this life, I understand now that we leave a part of ourselves in everything that we touch and so as long as these things remain alive, we ourselves become immortal. Life and death are preconceived notions interjecting our movements with fear, but this, here, now, is everything.

I took this picture whilst standing on the ledge of a bridge because I knew that I would never be young again.

Today I stood on Juliet's balcony, watched lovers scribbling their dreams onto letters, stroking her statue for good luck. Romeo and Juliet was supposedly based on the family that resided in this house and there was something quite extraordinary about standing amid this space, a realm of fiction that I've studied so profusely, a world so distant and yet capacitated in my footsteps. The house may just be a tourist attraction but a landscape that is filled with so much love and light will always be magical. Maybe we give the insignificant things too much meaning but maybe we just want to connect to something. The thing is, we create meaning, and in doing so, create significance. I don't know what Shakespeare was thinking when he wrote the play, I don't know where he sat or who his muse was, I don't know what he ate and drank, said and screamed, but for a transitory moment, I existed as part of his narrative and I felt at the depth of my own mortality.

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