Treno Per Milano Centrale

A few notes from the train after Rome

This is not really an article.

More like a note from a train.

A small memory before it fades.

I am on the train.

Looking outside at Italy passing by.

Fields.

Small stations.

Villages.

The kind of views that make you stare out of the window for an hour without realizing it.

I am listening to a beautiful psy mix.

The quiet kind.

The minimal kind.

The one that feels like meditation in motion.

The one that brings me peace, spark, and wisdom all at once.

There is something special about leaving cities that you love.

But there is something even more special about returning to cities that you love.

Especially when they have become home.

I am returning from Rome.

To my Milano.

And I realized something.

More than living in Milano, I love returning to it.

Every time I hear:

"Treno per Milano Centrale."

I become happy.

Last night was our last night in Rome.

We had rented a beautiful apartment overlooking Piazza San Paolo.

Lying on the couch, you could see the church directly from the window.

The location was absurdly good.

The kind of place that makes you pretend, for a few days, that this is your real life.

Although, maybe it was.

The night before, we had gone to a recommended restaurant.

They got my order wrong.

The food was average.

The bill wasn't.

A disappointment.

But yesterday we found the right place.

One minute from our apartment.

I ordered a giant raviolo.

Just one.

The size of the entire plate.

With lemon, pecorino and things I don't remember anymore.

What I do remember is that it was incredible.

We ate.

We talked.

We looked each other in the eyes.

Then we did what Italians do.

We walked.

Music playing from our phones.

Empty Roman streets.

Two women singing Russian songs in the middle of the night.

Probably waking up half the neighbourhood.

We hadn't been drinking.

Not even a little.

But we were already drunk from life.

And somehow, that is always stronger.

She was beautiful.

And I know I will remember this trip.

Not because Rome was beautiful.

Rome is always beautiful.

But because it was our first trip together.

When I was younger, I used to read books about people who lived lives that felt bigger than their cities.

People who travelled.

Who had stories.

Who met extraordinary people.

Who somehow seemed free.

Back then, those lives felt very far away.

Something that belonged to books.

And yet, there I was.

Walking through Rome at midnight.

Singing Russian songs with my Russian girl.

And realizing that somehow, without noticing, I had stepped into one of those stories myself.

We already have plans.

More cities.

More dinners.

More walks.

I will cheer for this friendship.

I will protect it.

Some people arrive in your life with noise.

Others simply arrive and become important.

Now we are both on the train.

You somewhere behind me.

Me here, trying unsuccessfully to sleep.

I gave up.

So instead I started writing.

And smiling.

In a few hours we will arrive in Milano.

You to your things.

Me to my thesis, my exams, and everything waiting for me there.

It was only a few days.

Just a small escape.

But an important one.

Some trips are not measured in days.

And some memories become important long before you understand why.

I think this will be one of them.