I can’t put it into words. It frustrates me. It is a memory. A moving image that plays over and over in my memories. The moment of existing the tram, being hit by the sight and warmth of the setting Milanese Sun, and Duomo. A moment when life slowed and every element suspended. When I bathed in the moment: the sounds, the light, the chatters, the stoney road beneath my feet. I still feel it yet it excites and hurts to remember. The moment is shortened, elements fogged. Those moment replays, the words float in and out like a rebel. I can’t capture them. Can’t catch them and lay them neatly.

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