Fri, Jun. 11
... All the paths we have to walk
Rome, here we come! Whirlwind speed tour, thank you very much. We'll be there for at least 3 nights, though, which will be nice. I hope our hostel is okay. It's a bit out of the main touristy areas, but we can always take public transit. We haven't had to do that since London, but it's always an adventure.
This hostel's walls are covered with grafitti, all the travellers that come through here leaving their mark, and their moment of what they want to say. I'm trying to think of what I'm going to leave on the walls when I leave... and where I'm going to write it. It's kinda cool... some of the walls have murals of famous artwork and original works, and the rest of the hallways and common areas are covered in people's moment of infamy and their 15 minutes of fame.
"All the world's a stage"? Maybe. I'm trying to decide what the best thing to write would be. That might be a good one, but we'll have to see... I've got to decide pretty soon, though, since we have to be checked out and gone in 1/2 hour. Then, off to book our train tickets to Rome, and away we go, whisked off on the next phase of this adventure.
It still seems surreal, even though by this point, it shouldn't. By this point, it should be old hat to hit a different city every few days, a different bed every couple of nights, and new sights every time we turn around. I'm still trying to soak it all in, though. My brain just can't quite comprehend the whole thing. Good thing for cameras, because that's the only way I'm going to remember half of it!
Cameras, journals, and a lot of memories that will come back at the oddest times, hitting me with a pang of homesickness for a place that I only ever spent a few days in.
Funny how the world can get under your skin like that.
One year ago today: Instead of working (well, not always instead of--we did have to do some work), though, we talked. A lot. About boys, about grad, about other classes, about college and our plans after high school, about our weekend plans... anything. Every once in a while, Mrs. Hune would try to get us to talk in French, but soon, we would be back to English. And, not only did we talk to each other, we talked to her, and she knew as much of the gossip about our lives as we did about each other's.
infinite || abyss
posted at 10:45 a.m.
