My skin is warm from the sun. Heated air is saturated with the smell of wine and stone. It is evening, and the sky is that perfect pale blue with a light pink tinge. The sunglasses I bought in Rome make the world sepia toned as I walk across the piazza.
He is supposed to be here--this is our place. Santa Maria Novella shimmers under the sun's rays and couples sit in the grass or on the out-of-place modern benches. The moment seems fleeting to me, and I don't understand why. I am here, in the land of my life; my home.
I see him walk into view, fresh off the train, the Ray Ban aviators he's so fond of framing his face. I can't help but smile and start moving toward him. Even as I do, my vision blurs the picture. The piazza starts to fade--he starts to fade. I run. I have to reach him. I can see the faint hint of a five o'clock shadow along his jaw line, I am so close.
And then, it is gone, he is gone, and all I see is the pale green of my quilted comforter.
These nightly visits to Italy are common for me. Sometimes I am back in Cinque Terre, sipping on Ivo's fresh mojitos in Bar Centrale. Other times, I am looking down on Florence's lights from Fiesole, with shooting stars flying overhead at irregular intervals.
Not much longer until Italy comes to me, thank goodness. My dear friend Alessandro will be arriving to Cincinnati September 14. I am 1st Entertainer and Amy is 1st Secretary.
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