Via Montebello 60
It was his idea in the first place to move in together. He was tired of the hostel and I of my small windowless room. Through friends, we found an airy apartment on the top floor of a building near the Baths of Diocletian. But at the last minute, he chose to keep traveling, and I couldn’t compete with the lure of new adventures. So it was that after weeks of anticipation, we ended up staying there for one night, a short night we spent packing.
starlight over strange rooftops the artist's life
I gathered the few possessions I had already brought over. He neatly stowed
away clothes, guitar, sketchbooks and brushes into worn khaki bags. At dawn, he was gone, leaving me his leather hip flask, still half-full of Spanish cognac, and his onyx signet ring, a ship upon the sea. He promised to write and for a long time, he did.
instead of tomorrow a bridge of fog