Florence Day Four - The Gondola That Waits for Us
Mestre woke beneath a hard summer light, but inside our room the morning began softly, in the language that had become uniquely ours. A whispered buongiorno . Sleepy kisses. His face close to mine before either of us had fully returned to the world. Then love, unhurried and familiar without ever becoming ordinary. There was something almost sacred in the way we woke beside each other during those days, as though every night briefly carried us away and every morning gave us back. Before the city, before the heat, before the plans and the kilometres, there was always this first reunion. I would look at him and feel the same astonishment I had felt at the beginning: he was here, beside me, and for another day the world would be something we entered together. We dressed quickly and left for Venice once more. The motorcycle carried us through Mestre towards the long passage over the lagoon, along the road that seemed suspended between land and water. By then we knew the garage well. We kne...
