a statue overrun with roses; kavetham brainrot but make it angsty

lovely

"We will see you again," Felix says, grinning. "By the end of this trip, you'll want to stay with Kaveh forever." My cheeks go a bit pink as I fluster out a disagreeing reply.
.
.
.
That night in my room, exhaustion from the travels and the overwhelm of the new place finally creeps up on me. I'd forgotten just how much coffee I'd managed to drink during my flights. Tomorrow, I will go and see the world, I decide. Tomorrow, I will go and experience Kaveh's new lifestyle. Although, I don't know much about what it is, to be honest. It's just a generalization.
...
A small breeze ruffles the longer strands of my hair, blowing them to and fro in ample time as I sit at a quaint pastry shop in Verona. Past the patio of the place are the tattered and beautiful buildings of such an old, ornate town, which is smattered with touring passerby, but charming all the same. The sun illuminates the roofs and detailed stucco, even shines on the cobblestone. The rock has been tattered with years of sandals, sneakers and the like, yet also imprinted with the untold and rough tenacity of those who laid its tile centuries ago.

Felix was— well, I can't say that. Nope. I won't do it. Instead, I'll astutely hint at the notion, by saying that I'm... warming up to this whole trip. This whole practice of... spontaneity. But that's enough. Back to droning inner monologues particularizing the simple pleasure of Italian places.
...
Even the train rides were lovely— the most wonderful lovelies are the lovelies in which I truly mean to use that adjective, despite my impeccably perspicacious word choice. Yes, I do agree with the Oxford dictionary as it says that the word lovely means "exquisitely beautiful," but, if I may be my analytically picky self... my definition includes a sort of simplicity. A simplicity that you don't get to experience often, due to your grueling schedules and busy days of work. A simplicity that is only felt when life forces you to feel it. A simplicity that is drinking an authentic cappuccino at seven in the morning on a Wednesday whilst looking out the window of a vast automobile, only to gaze upon the lush Italian countryside. To feel the hum of the train within my chest. To close my eyes and let myself feel the air as I inhale.

Now, that is lovely.
...

Next, Florence. The ever-crowded city, aflood with tourists and natives alike, never ceases to amaze me. I wander what seems like endlessly in no particular direction, and end up discovering beautiful alcoves deep within the city. First, a mystical private garden, equipped with a rickety, gothic-style fence, and rich with greenery and crumbling, eroded sculpture. I can only peer through its keepings at the wondrous shrubbery inside, but to me, it is enough just to look. To touch would almost be a crime.

And following of course, a delightful shop where I have the best pizza I've ever had. In my life. The heart of the place is painted in its dim yellows and browns, its charm hidden in the food it encompasses, or perhaps the forgotten conversations of lingering strangers who sit only for a quick bite.

As I make my way down the streets, taking rights when I feel like it and lefts when my mind starts to wander, I happen to come upon the most beautiful piece of architecture I might have ever seen, to date. Il Duomo. Or rather, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. Its gorgeous and detailed walls seem to close around me, encapsulate me in a master thesis which explores the beautiful tension of art, history, and legacy. I stand there, taken aback, lost for word and breath and right of mind as I swim in—

"Alhaitham?"

One moment.

"Hm?" I look up, only to find a familiar blonde peering at me in curiosity. His deep brown eyes compliment that tan and freckled skin, his baggy soccer jersey reflect the day's sun, and his messy 90's waves fall straight into his face as if he was born to be some British singer. Heller Alderwin. His cigarette pumps a steady stream of smoke into my face as he takes another drag, hovering less than a few feet from me and frowning in interest at what I might be doing here.

...Yeah. That's Heller Alderwin.

I smile, tipping back my sunglasses to examine him, the outer edges of my lips playing at a remarking smile. Lovely.
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hehe its baby drugged up sex symbol artist!!!!
... but why is he here 🤨

honestly no clue but enjoy haitham's ramblings!! <333
i will be traveling for the next two weeks, just letting y'all avid readers get the full scoop bc you will def start wondering why i haven't updated