We’re half way through the week. How are things going on your end?
I thought I’d get a little more personal in today’s post, sharing a form of writing I used to really explore more—especially in my high school/college years… freeverse, which is basically a form of fluid poetry that just flows straight on to paper.
Writing has always been so therapeutic to me. Even back in school, all my favorite classes and moments were ones spent with a pen in my hand scribbling away and trying to really convey feelings through words.
I remember looking forward to all of my english/creative writing classes more than anything else. Science, history, math… not my faves (though somehow math came really easily to me… ) haha, anywayyyyy…
THEN there was my travel writing class in Florence Italy (when I studied abroad in 2009) that seriously made me so SO happy. We would go on class trips to monuments, parks, and popular city streets to observe and jot down our ideas. We’d come together and sometimes read aloud our poems/free verse. (That always freaked me out, but I loved hearing people’s stories.)
Maybe I’ve been craving this kind of writing more because when I was thinking about my next “What I’m Wicked Into,” this sort of thing came to mind.
So as I sit here, looking out at the cars driving back and forth on the street with the sun shooting down—I thought I’d share more whatever comes to mind—no structure or purpose—just writing for once, freeverse.
Sometimes when you let your mind wander, that’s when the best stuff comes up.
Let me try and take you back to Italy with me… those memories will always be some of my fondest.
The corners of my shoes wiggle into cobblestone dips
As I make my way down an alleyway to my favorite café.
I hear the laughs of women chatting as the door swings open and shut, open and shut.
Italian words I half recognize linger in my ears.
I try to translate them before ordering in a language I don’t know.
My nose is tickled by the scents of cappuccino, cigarette smoke, and a warmth that reminds me of where I am.
It’s been my home for months yet the newness of a place so foreign snaps me out of the dream I’ve fallen into.
I grab my seat inside and bite into a warm croissant filled with a thin layer of Nutella.
Crumbs fall into my lap; I brush them off.
Smiling, I sit in the comfort of knowing this is the only plan for my day.
That it’s enough, in and of itself, to just be co-existing with a group of people I don’t know.
That their language is so unfamiliar yet strangely consoling.
That this city is so far from home yet incredibly close to heart
I study their fashion and their movements,
Wondering if I could live here, too.
I take small sips of my drink,
Peering up from the mug as the door jingles open and shut, open and shut.
I smile, nervously, because the words I can’t find.
But, for a moment—many actually—I feel at ease.
I take my leather bag and walk on,
My feet clicking the cobblestones.
And I take a different route home.
Ah, home. There, I said it.
For four months,
And this corner café,
I revel in the thought of everything new
And make my way 27 Aprile.
Feels good to be home.
Other “What I’m Wicked Into” Posts:
– My First Blue Apron Experience
– What I’m Wicked Into: R0AM
– Four Easy & Delicious At-Home Breakfasts
– What I’m Wicked Into: Eggslut
– What I’m Wicked Into: Memories Of Maine
– What I’m Wicked Into: My Favorite Accessories
– What I’m Wicked Into: Bacari GDL
– What I’m Wicked Into: At-Home Arm Workout
– What I’m Wicked Into: Thrifting
– What I’m Wicked Into: A Casual Valentine’s Day
– What I’m Wicked Into: Salt Cave Santa Barbara
– What I’m Wicked Into: Sober January
– What I’m Wicked Into: Casa Bianca Pizza Pie