Florence

Photo by E. Fina
by E.Fina

Romanticalism at it’s finest.
Yes, I say romanticalism—not really a word you say?
Well, it’s describing romanticism in a heightened sense—a strengthening of language.
Florence.
Ah Florence.
Where one can simply stand, enamored in it all.
The Medici’s, Leonardo, Botticelli, Giotto, Raphael.
Approaching Brunelleschi’s Duomo, an unfathomable sight, causing one to feel insignificant in size.
Sauntering across the Ponte Vecchio, pausing in view, the River Arno, outstretched.
Lunching in a quaint, corner shop, crumbs dusting the floor.
Cobbled streets, marble statues and colored facades.
Strolling hand in hand—step by step—breath by breath.
History—rebirth—Florence.

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Pisa

Pisa

 

 

That utter sense of satisfaction.
Not wanting, not needing, simply being.
Traversing by foot, crossing the River Arno,
flanked by brightly, painted buildings.
Sunshine warming one’s cheeks.
Gelato in hand,
the memory of Pisa, leaning.

Love in Silence.

Love in Silence. {Video} | elephant journal.

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“If you aren’t quite sure what love looks like anymore, but still believe in it;

If you believe that love isn’t about making anyone stay;

If you believe that love is hearing each other’s song, yet resting contented in each other’s silence;

This story is for you:
Continue reading “Love in Silence.”