I had my photo taken again this morning. My blurry silhouette is probably filling up pixels as I write this story. It happens every day, observing untold love stories walking over Rialto Bridge. Europe’s most famous crossing is forever swelling with tourists wanting their Facebook cover of the Grand Canal.
Every day I cross Rialto on my way to work. I love watching little men scurry off their boats exchanging ropes for boxes; frantically unpacking wine and chocolates. Occasionally an ambulance dashes underneath like a Bond villain under siege. Even the rubbish disposal boat fascinates me as it churns out steam.
Church bells are crashing around me every hour, but I need to make myself eligible again. Make a leap back towards metropolitan life and nurse glittering bruises on even broader shoulders.
I told my new Lolita-esque flatmate that I have a lot of love to give. Isn’t it strange that you travel so far only to daydream about the same thing?