Romance Noir it’s a nostalgic flânerie exposed in super8. She redraws her labirints in Rome, the city she loves the most, and she walks as she couldn’t stop, sometimes lucid, sometimes sleep-walking. She has no home, she’s still seeking, and she knows that the only way to get rid of demons is to get them close and to confuse herself with them. Is it important to say it’s me and that I blend my memories with others that do not belong to me? That I like to start sentences by her as if I would speak about someone else? That when I was little I ‘ve also seen ghosts and now that I beg them to return as before they transmigrate into forms that I can no longer recognize? That suffices to be just my film noir and, by itself, a small space of freedom. After all, like Novalis says in its Fragments, we are alone with everything we love.