Volare

[autumn_hs]

I just woke up from a trip to Italy. I was dining with my dearest in a cafe on the Arno in Firenze. The sunlight sprinkled glittering gold onto the dappled water which I could easily view from my perch on a stool. I was eating penne pasta with a tomato sauce and I had just noticed that there was no water on the table because you have to order it

Comments

[ann_septimus]

Wow - I understand this painfully well. For me, it's not so much the dreams as the waking flashbacks that sting. Walking down the street and a certain shaft of light will make me see a corner in Byres Road, down to the last cobblestone and shop sign. Smells that drag me intimately back to a takeaway in Sauchiehall Street. A taste that makes Hannah return to my mind's eye in all her dorky glory (I did probably 75% of my eating/cooking with her, so she's always associated with food for me - we bonded over onion rings). A song I first heard on the scratchy radio in my flat kitchen makes me feel the cracked formica countertop as if it were real and tangible.

It's crazy how vivid these flashbacks are. I usually do NOT do that - my memories are more vague, fuzzy, and single-image driven... but lately I've been assaulted by nostalgia in the form of hyper-realistic reveries. I kind of love them, even though they hurt like the devil.