I spent most of my life in a big city. When I was teenager I felt something that made me strange, the big city wasn’t my place, so I spent most of my time traveling, alone, with my friends or my family. I love traveling, discovering new places, but I’ve always looked for the perfect place to live.
I never found it.
I always know Italy isn’t my place, Italy is the roots of my story, but I belong to another place.
I felt in love with Paris, but I never lived there, it’s a big city like Rome, I don’t like big cities. But it’s like a spell, everybody fall in love with Paris, and its melancholic romantic aura.
I felt in love with the South West of the United Staes, but it was far away for me, I wasn’t ready for leave Italy to America.
I felt in love with London and its classy style, tea rooms and bookstores. The rainy English countryside, a cozy cottage.
I looked for this dreamy place for a while but finally I undestood:
Home is a state of mind