Rome is such a special place – I’m not referring to the Colosseum or the Trevi, those are beautiful too, but my favourite part of the city is a quiet slice of a big street called via nazionale where a good friend of mine lives. There are books of all kinds and seeds of every variety on the shelves that go from bedroom to kitchen. I’ll arrive, flustered and breathless after anxiously wondering if my Roman taxi will rip me off but as soon as my suitcase hits the floor, it’s like nothing ever changed at all. As an expat for almost my entire life now, change isn’t an adjustment but a pace of life I’ve grown accustomed to. I’ve learnt to flex and stretch myself as transitions swirl around me. Friends move, we scatter to different cities and then bump around like dust until we land somewhere new….it’s a cycle. And the corners I most cherish are where I can find a return of sorts, a revival of a time that changed before I realised it had. And so it is here in Rome, ironically I find this return – in a city I don’t know very well but adore all the same. And with both some time on my hands and fingers full of pizza, I wandered around for a day while my friend was at work, collecting photos in all the prettiest places I found. White on white paired with a little bit of incongruous black, skinnies that stretch after all the focaccia (as well as hid the vanilla gelato that disastrously dripped from cone to elbow) and flats that feel okay on the uneven cobbles that line this little corner of Italy I have really grown to love.