But sadness is also beautiful, maybe because it rings so true and goes so deep, because it is about the distances in our lives, the things we lose, the abyss between what the lover and the beloved want and imagine and understand that may widen to become unbridgeable at any moment, the distance between the hope at the outset and the eventual outcome, the journeys we have to travel, including the last one out of being and on past becoming into the unimaginable: the moth flown into the pure dark. Or the flame.
— Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby
Photo: Charles Thurston Thompson, Autoportrait, 1853 (via orphanwork)
Spring was sitting at the bar of the hotel wasting time until their school left for Rome. She didn’t know how she was feeling about leaving the beautiful city of Rome. She hadn’t seen much of the city, and what she did see she had seen it from the taxi cab and a little bit of the catacombs. She smiled as she thought of her visit to the catacombs with Liam and their adventure to the bathroom shortly after. She laughed quietly to herself and took a sip of her drink. She heard the chair beside her scrape out, she looked up ready to tell the guy she was taken when she realized that it was someone she knew. “Charles!” she said with a smile. “Hi, brother.”