Tasso street. A walk in solitude.
Too much sun, too few faces.
A few hours left before the flight takes me back to my "real" life. Hours that cannot be wasted,
nor shared.
One shot, maybe two.
One should always have the luxury of choice.
To "go back" is to visit a place you’ve been before, as if for the first time again.
To "return" is to set course for the same destination, over and over.
When I travel, I love to "return" to cities I’ve already seen. It's that strange, humans need to feel like a traveler rather than a tourist—the sweet, reassuring sensation of building familiarity with the once-unknown.
But to my city of origin, I never truly return.
It’s like meeting an old friend who hasn’t lost that unique way of laughing, even though everything else has changed.
That’s how past lives are.
You go back every single time,
yet you feel as if you’ve never truly returned