Tangent is a river in Rome.

Self-validation, the sea off Puglia.

If I was to describe Florence, Cassino (via Rome) and Puglia in as many words, I would say it was like Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

As in downhill; on the way home.. despite having three weeks of my trip left to go.

And for lack of better words, it was because by this point it just felt like I had “done the work” (yuck); returning to friends and family in Italy having learned what I’d come to learn and discovering all that was worth discovering for the time being.

Like that I didn’t actually want to live in Greece, now that I could finally see more clearly and maybe that was more a 2023 thing; that Gabrielle wasn’t for me (but also, didn’t beg me to stay? Who knows, maybe I could’ve learnt to live a life “kissing” that way) but it also wasn’t going to stop me from moving to Paris, eventually. 

Like how i felt momentarily thankful for things not having worked out with anyone up until now, because I wouldn’t be here, pashing this six foot four Sicilian-Parisian, non-forever man (that I’ll most likely never see again) all over Le Marais. 

Like when I actually make this move, mark my words, I will not be flying directly to family.

And will not be accepting another free holiday from anybody because it’s never a holiday and never free.

Like that you just can’t expect your best friends to text you back

let alone subscribe to your Substack

let alone attend your father’s funeral. 

But if you want people in your life

that is - if you decide to stay alive

you’ve kinda gotta forgive them anyway. 

That I might actually be grieving something I don’t even know if I want anyway.

Though maybe it’s more the grief in not being chosen

even though I know I’m “only 37”

even though I know I behave like I don’t want anyone

but so then I might have the chance to still choose, even if it’s still a no anyway.

And that life really is just a series of heartbreaks

though unlike what we may think, only a few will be from men; 

lowering your expectations, and you know what, sometimes - as hard as it is - maybe no revenge

because who they are is enough of a sentence.

That life doesn’t simply lay off you 

after you’ve lost everything

then your everything 

maybe even time again.

It is not lenient

in sickness 

nor healing.

It doesn’t stop people once close to you, still close

from doing

or saying 

whatever they want about you.

Death and disease strangely won’t be enough for some strange people.

And rather that life does not care about your loss.

I could as far as to say that life doesn’t even know, but again wouldn’t worry if it did.

And we mustn’t assume that she’ll go gently; that we might be offered better work, men or money

just because we’ve gone through

or are going through something.

I could go as far as to say it’s even slimmer pickings.

And more recently, where there’s smoke there’s fire. 

Validate yourself.

Everyone is full of shit.

Not even our gurus

or idols are it.

I don’t think it’s actually wise to trust anyone.

We can never truely know anyone.

Even the people sleeping next to us or in the next room.

That despite a few good weeks, my writing remains depressing.

Though despite what you may think - I still had so much fun.

But when I get home, I know -

that i can’t carry it all

on my own

anymore;

that I’ve had enough;

that it’s time for something really good - that hangs around - to happen.

That i’m not special.

That the more i share i learn that everyone is having a hard time.

And like Mum said, should only be "a reason to have more compassion.”

That “those who only drink water have a secret to hide.” - Charles Baudelaire.

That I’ve used way too many quotation marks and it might be time to go to bed.

And that in spite of the moon, Mercury, this story

“not everything means something

honey” 

just like my favourite band, Gang of Youths said.

Goodnight.

X