Rome, November 2012
Getting lost and laughing through it until we found a big gold Jesus to guide us home. That’s what I remember most. Running to trains. Standing in the doorway while you punched our tickets, panicking somewhere on the platform. We were the last ones to jump on before it sped away, twice, but remained unfazed and happily ignorant with no plans or idyllic ideas.
Walking down streets without maps. Getting suggestions in broken English, mostly in hand signals. Making wishes and pretending to live inside of a movie. Stumbling into a sunset upon the coliseum, and up to the Pantheon. Always lucky with you here, always finding ourselves somewhere. "That's definitely something famous." Ignorance and laughter: I'll never know enough.
I told you they don't cut the pizza for you when you looked confused. Food coma: took a nap and woke up to a bartender comedian serving freezing drinks in frozen glasses. Fell asleep with frozen fingers. Fell asleep before four. That was the most surprising part of the day.
Standing in mile long lines for less than ten minutes. We weren’t prepared for the dizzy of delicately dancing flourishes and frescos. Enough already! Our minds protested our eyes for accepting the vibrant hues and complex caricatures. Saints and scenes and scandalous secrets hidden in painted ceilings and walls. "I can't appreciate this right now. Give me a few days to digest." Room after room, astonished then just tired, then giddy and done. Laughing all the way through, lightheaded and laughing until I fell on the floor, still giggling. Holding each other up, we made it through the madness. I didn't know an artist could have such an absolute threshold for art.
We didn't dare turn back after sinning in the Sistine Chapel.