You can visit it here: I’m a freelance photographer… romepix.com
…and I will be writing here at alovelettertorome.com more often for my book on Rome 😉
And I have many many many beautiful film rolls being developed several at a time because I am on a budget but as soon as I get them in I will be posting the gorgeous pictures I took… the best I have ever taken… I’ve really studied the craft very hard this year… and I can’t wait to share it with you.
Take an elevator ride on the “wedding cake” and see the Roman gods’ view of the Eternal City.
The ruins are laid out before you betwixt cupolas and Renaissance rooftops of villas and apartments like dollhouses.
Hints of the past stir some ancient feeling in you you never knew you possessed until you saw Rome from a mount.
The sign of greatness and the sign of a fall and all around you the beautiful noise of life that will not stop long enough to extinguish itself into the remains of dust it lives among.Rome lives among the shadows and the bones and the blood and the ghosts and the stone and the picked away marble because it is the heart and the remnants of the past are the nervous system which still courses with life from that heart center of a slowly dying immortal, entombed in the blessing and the curse of a memory which feels like a dream.
Church bells ring and ring through the city when the golden hour colors everything and there’s time for one last sun-glow walk and one last smile exchanged like kisses on the mouth, not the cheeks.
I will remember you even if the imprint of my self is swallowed up in the city of too many stories and too many lights and too many songs to find a memento mori for me in some nook or cranny when I’m gone.
And so I have Rome written on my soul should I be able to take it with me.
Bury me not in the earth of the place I love but burn my ashes to the sky so I may float like some augur of another time, a shadow to pass over a new face with her own love flashing on her face as she falls in love with the Roman sky at sunset, as she dreams to be remembered somewhere somehow in the eternal city, to leave her mark somewhere and to be known and felt by some future stranger intoxicated by the same love for the same city and the same ringing of bells and the orange becoming purple and the golden lamps flickering on and the smiles becoming kisses, not on the cheeks, but on the mouth.