I didn’t have time the previous two days to post my daily prompt, so I will catch up on the ones that I missed. Life is hectic.
I love my life and I love everything in it, but sometimes I wish things were different. So today’s challenge was a real easy one since I already knew exactly what to write.
Day 4: Write about leaving home.
I have a shelf in my house. That shelf contains important memories from over the years. It has empty wine bottles with wishes, torn envelopes that held gifts and sweet words, jewelry from important people and other small trinkets that hold only emotional value.
I would grab that together with my favourite clothes, my chef’s knife, and my laptop, leaving all the rest behind. Where I’d be going, I would have no need for Ikea couches or all the other items I have collected in my house.
With the cheapest flight possible, I would fly all the way to Italy and from there on, I would figure out how to make my way to the island Venice.
The first days, I would spend in a little but charming hotel that serves hot breakfasts. And the rest of the days I would be living in a small apartment that has a wooden floor and big old windows with cracked, white paint.
The bed would be squeaky and the bathroom wouldn’t be to write home about.
But the view. Oh man, the view.
When you open the windows, the salty breeze and sunlight would fill the room and you’d have a first class view on Piazza San Marco. You could see the pigeons flock together around the constant stream of tourists.
And after having a freshly baked roll with Italian herbs for breakfast, I would gather up my laptop and find my way down to one of the little cafes around the Piazza San Marco.
I am imagining a classic white-red checkered tablecloth over a metal round table with green ivy that grows up the walls. Almost comfortable chairs and a friendly elderly barista that is passionate about his coffees.
It would be one of these local coffeehouses that tourists never find because they don’t stay long enough. Even I wouldn’t find it until after a couple of weeks. But when I do, it welcomes me like I have always been there.
And I would write. Write about tragic romances and long lost lovers. About the saddest of heartbreaks or the seething anger of a gentle man. About the hidden treasures on the island or just make up stories like “the Mystery around the Venetian Thief”. Stories about the tragic past of an old, sinking city and about the love of a foreign beauty.
I would write about everything and anything that my mind could think up and my fingers could write.
With the sun on my shoulders, the wind through my hairs and the silence a welcoming embrace. All my worries taken by the breeze and carried over to the ocean, disappearing.
I would eat warm biscotti and wear sunglasses as I talk to my favourite pigeon. I would catch up with my family through video calling and keep in touch with my friends by email. There will be pasta and pizza, olives and wines. Fresh basil growing on my balcony and an Italian dictionary on my end table.
I would befriend a gondola guy that would tip his hat whenever I walk past him and I would know the names of the servers in my favourite coffeehouse. I’d practice my Italian with friendly locals and be invited to wine tastings on the mainland.
And after a long day of writing and pouring my soul on paper, I would walk around the little streets of Venice, discovering new corners and new houses everyday. A blue house that has a rusty old wind chime or a tree that has the initials of young lovers.
Endless possibilities and endless adventures awaiting me in the nooks and crannies of Venice.
That is the dream.
My worst nightmare
10 fortunes you never want to come true