My journey started years ago: I was lost in the crowds and tried to find myself in the shop windows, full of antiquities and luxurious clothes.
I was looking at the crowded Italian street, where all cultures and languages grew and rooted in one tree of tolerance and love. “We are United” was written almost on every door of the shop and boutique, and after some time you understand, that you have much more common habits with every stranger passing by.
And still, I feel lost. I felt that didn’t have anything in common with myself.
I came to the small plaza next to the old cathedral. Old oak benches offered their strong backs for travelers. I laid down on one of them, staring at the orange sky, which was full of flames and yellow daffodils, as the sun was going down.
“I need a motel for the night and catch a train”. I did not care about the price as long as the bed was comfortable enough and allowed to enjoy my sleep. Well, some food was always good, as long as it is not expired and could be eatable.
Church bells struck eleven pm. I was still staring at the sky and counted every star that appeared on already black canvas of the sky. The brassy and soft music was flowing from the corners of the street; the life in the streets did not plan to end. It was only waking up.
People, mostly in their middle twenties, were going around, yelling jokes and laughing out their feelings; women were wearing light dresses, men, that were accompanying them- simple shorts with shirts. They all yelled along, as they lived only for the night, like the light bugs in the summer garden.
Another couple passed next to me: a retired woman with an old-fashioned hat with big light green feathers and pearl pin in form of the shell, long colorful green dress and yellow sleepers. The man was tenderly holding her arm, with the accurate tender and strength, as the gardener was holding the first winter rose, that they did not want to lose.