was only in Rome for less than a day / for a couple of hours, but can officially say that I crossed some things off my bucket list with the Trevi Fountain and Spanish steps
May, 2023
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good morning today i鈥檓 thinking about nat and andrew鈥檚 little yacht date (the two glasses on the table!)
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Perhaps going on walks really is a remedy for ills both ancient and modern ... I was low-key considering to stay curled up in my room all day because I get phases like that, but gathered all 15% of my internal battery and took the train and am now walking among sunshine and greenery and breathing fresh air. When I get back home I really need to start going on walks all the time.
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I'm getting a lightsaber.
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My family keeps finding cool scorpions and then Not Showing them to me, this is home of phobia
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As some of you may know, John Keats haunts within the Romantic aspects I have (or dream of having, anyway). I own several collections of his works and one, published in 1861, is my oldest, and most treasured, book. Going to Rome, there was a handful of things that were must-sees: the Colosseum, the underground aqueducts, the catacombs, and, of course, the Keats-Shelley House.
On my last day in Rome, I managed to sneak my way there after visiting the Vatican. The day before I had driven by Keats' grave and immediately sobbed when our tour guide let out the casual words, "Has anyone heard of the English poet John Keats? He's buried right there," but I didn't have the time to stop by the grave. Making time for the house was the most necessary thing, however.
By some miracle, I had the Keats-Shelley House entirely to myself while I was there. No one else attended with me and no one came walking around until I was in the giftshop, getting ready to leave. It's like the house knew, or Rome knew, that I needed that time in the house. And truly I did okay until I got to Keats' bedroom. That's when I was utterly overwhelmed.
I wish I could put into words what being there meant to me. Sadly, I don't know if I'll ever find the right words that would convey all of it. What I will say is that I felt this binding connection with Keats, both while in the house and immediately after as I went to get water from the fountain at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, a fountain that Keats, no doubt, got water from, or was given water from by Joseph Severn, during his time in Rome.
It was magical and heartbreaking and I wouldn't trade a second of it for anything. I do have to get back, however, so I can go properly visit his grave. His name, writ in water, has to be seen by my own eyes.
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