wanderlust

Lots of people use their blogs for pictures I've noticed. I mostly use mine for writing.

When I was 20 I went to Italy for 6 weeks and then Greece for 1 week. I can honestly say I'd never felt more alive before that (I've done a lot of living since though). Of course I didn't feel dead, I just didn't feel like I was living as fully as I did in Italy.

There are lots of reasons for this phenom but I've really been thinking about it a lot lately, and mostly it makes me want to cry every time I think of it.

Actually- the sound of my washer cleaning Ben's clothes also makes me want to cry right now...must be that time again!

Anyway. Italy was the first place and time when I was in charge of no one but myself. It was my most selfish and introverted time whilst being my most flamboyant as well. Everything was about me. I had my own room, bathroom, spot outside our apt, music to listen to as I fell asleep, discussions with myself, my own friend, my own experiences, my own everything. No one at home could even imagine all the gorgeousness I saw everyday and I secretly loved that. I wrote essays and such to share with mi familia but it's not the same.

Everyday was like living in a fairytale. The whole city is a fairytale. The grocery store, the fruit stands, the gelato shops, the sites, the cobblestone, the pizza, the air/smog/oil, the superstition, the artists, the art, the street performers, the doorways to houses, the flower boxes, the colors of everything. It was so bright and vivid and alive!

I just miss it. I miss the uncertainty of it all and the adventure. I miss our little apartment and the train and walking everywhere.

My life now is an even bigger and wilder adventure, but sometimes I dream about sitting on the porch behind our apt. with a big bowl of fruit and my computer and listening to the pianist in our complex and breathing in the olive oil and writing.

I plain old miss it. Sometimes it's good to reminisce.