A Change of Perspective

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing shy.

When I first moved here, the evening sunset used to fill me full of inspiration. I would sit along the rocks beside Castel Dell'Ovo and fill my notebook with fanciful tales and witty prose.

"One day I'll be the next Hemingway,” I foolishly allowed myself to believe.

There was a slight problem with my plan. Every good writer derives inspiration from their lives. What life have I built for myself here? For years, I watched the rose-tinted boy I used to be grow more disillusioned with every blown-out candle. Moving to Napoli was the last mistake I made as that boy.

Back when I was younger, I had grown tired of the fast-paced life of a 22-year-old trying to make it in London. Truthfully the competition ate me alive. All I had to show for my hard work were calloused hands and an empty pack of cigarettes. Whilst I listened to talented chefs leaving their hearts on every plate, I dutifully cleaned the mess their devotion made.

"If only I'd have stayed and accepted my fate."

As my thoughts continued their waltz with the now periwinkle sky, a beaten-up Vespa mounted the pavement in front of me and nearly claimed my shins.

"Attenzione!”

(”Watch out!”)

"Vai," , I replied with the same irritation as the driver.

”Go,”

This was one of the many problems plaguing this place.

There is no order.

No rules.

As a boy, this had excited me; danger round every corner; excitement in ever encounter... And that's not including all of the emotional, passionate communications you had daily.

Now all that has changed for me, I have become a man.

I resent being woken up every morning by my neighbour screaming at her husband through their open

window. Tired of forever risking my life whenever I cross a road. Most of all, I am sick of the skies. The same purple clouds prancing across the sky, just like Britain, reminding me of the naive boy I once was. All of these free-spirited hippies try to convince you that such a sight should create profound emotions inside you...

Every sunset is the same across every sky in the world. They tease you with their pastel tones all day, sway into their warm plums, and in the end become a disappointing black - just in time for the same hippies to worship their beloved moon.

"Maybe I am too young to be this misanthropic”

I should know better than to have taken these streets (After all, I walk the length of the port to work daily). Today is slightly different though, one of my oldest friends from Napoli finally has been invited to exhibit his work in a gallery along here.

Our friendship is something of an oddity for outsiders – he has kept his inspiration through the years, whilst I wilfully kicked it’s arse out into the real world to shrivel up and die many years ago.

When he told me he had fulfilled this dream, there was a pang of resentment rising in me. Not through jealousy, but through pity. He was a bright soul, intelligent as well, and yet he dedicated his life to fantasy… I always hoped one day he would wake up and smell the roses, but I have a suspicion he thinks the same of me.

"Alex! You’re early?"

"I couldn’t be on time, could I?" I joked, "When would you have time to give me the grand tour when you’re swamped with art collectors?

"Of course, I will remember you when I am in my mansion. Don’t sweat, brother”, his words carried the warmth of every summer.

"So, how are you feeling?"

"Never better, I am living in a dream..."

As he spoke, I sensed a small quiver of anxiety in him, "I have something to show you. "

He turned sharply and led me down a corridor, passing all of his paintings, "Luigi, I am missing all of your work."

"This is just foreplay. I have something that is going to knock your socks off,” he replied giddily - his humour was always questionable when he was excited.

I hadn’t noticed it before, but at the end of the typical white walled corridor (predictably bright as t show off the paintings that hang on them) we arrived at a long black curtain pulled across an archway. Admittedly, if all of the work I had rushed past was in his words ‘foreplay’, I was nervous with anticipation to see what was housed behind this veil.

“Please, go and enjoy. Take it all in and I will be out here when you are finished.”

He gestured with his hand for me to enter, and kindly parted the curtains so I could slip through.

At first the room appeared unlit; the dread of the darkness was almost overpowering my senses. Upon closer inspection I saw it…

A solitary frame, no larger than the width between the end of my thumb and tip of my pinkie finger when my hand was spread, was mounted on a wall in front of me with a spotlight beaming down upon it.

I recognised the scene, it was Castel Dell’Ovo. The same sight I walked by every day. What I did not expect was the serenity that washed over me as I looked at the sky and the sea, not their usual shades of purple… but the softest blues, with white clouds weightlessly sailing across them.

I returned to my friend, patiently waiting for me outside the curtain, “So? What do you think?”

“I feel like my eyes have been opened for the first time in a really long time,” I replied, tearfully.