introduction

My parents have been together since they were in high school. Love is something that I was lucky enough to be surrounded in as I was growing up and something that I have searched for since moving out on my own. Throughout the past ten years, I have experienced love in many different forms; romance, desperation, desire, lust, loneliness, and passion. I have been in love. I have seen love. I have lost love. But my parents have a soulmate kind of love, a forever love, a happy ever after ending love.

I am young, I am fickle, I am brilliant and bright and wild. I search for love constantly and though my searches and my strange sense of self, I have stumbled upon relationships that have a certain humor, horror, honesty, and realness. I want to share my stories, to make others laugh, and to allow myself to reflect on my memories.

I really hope you enjoy my stories. However outrageous, however scandalous, however funny or inappropriate they might be.

im writing a book

I have struggled with how to start off my story; love affairs, memories, funny moments, memoirs, biographies, enhancing the truth, lying about names, etc. I haven’t yet decided where to start or what to focus on, whether to narrow down my stories or write a trilogy of books. If you have stumbled upon this work, I apologize if it isn’t clear to you or if you have issues with the timing of events or the reasoning behind telling certain stories. I only suggest that you look at every story for humor, for honesty, and for hope; that behind everything that has happened to me, I have grown, I have laughed, and I have loved. Enjoy. 

great love stories.

sawyer and kate.
gatsby and daisy.
noah and allie.
leo and kate.
jin and sun.
mitch and deborah.
desmond and penny.
ross and rachel.
ct and diem.
alex and izzie.
big and carrie.
corey and topanga.

terbo.

rain paints my face

as your cheek rests against mine

as your arms wrap me in warmth.

hold me once more, for one lastly moment, 

for eternity.

you make me whole 

as my body sinks into your embrace

as your voice coats my reality with sweetness.

the deep richness of your words 

the full hunger of your hands against my back

the majestic nature of your smile 

with the moon lighting your face.

miles separate us.

oceans break our hearts as every wave crashes in the shore.

and yet i dream, of your smile, those warm hands, 

cool voice

and eyes that long for more moments, 

more desired rain.

as my paint drips onto your perfect cheek,

as your arms slowly release me, 

i am lost. i am shaken. i am a moment. 

an eternity, just as the rain will always return, 

so will you to my memory. 

the spanish steps.

my second night in rome was definitely one for the books.

after dancing and drinking and talking and smoking countless cigarettes, i ended up going on a walk with a young italian man named ruben.

it was late, but we were not tired. i don't understand how some people can sleep when there is so much beauty and history and romance surrounding them.

ruben looked exactly like my first boyfriend, R. it was almost uncanny. i think thats why i wanted to talk more to him. although we barely understood each other, we had hours of conversation - probably because it was difficult to get even the basic ideas across (like the meaning of the word "awkward" for example).

we walked the entire city it felt like, starting from our small scottish pub to the famous spanish steps. it was about 4 am and there wasn't a soul awake in the city except the occasional straggler. we stood there, at the top of the spanish steps - alone in the middle of the night - over looking the entire city. the view was so unrealistic, so picturesque, so fucking incredible. it was unbelievable - i seriously could not believe that something that amazing was happening to me. it was breath-taking and heart stopping and gorgeous.

after the spanish steps - we walked to the pincio garden park - which is a large park located on a hill top in the center of the city. there ruben and i kissed and watched the sun rise.

it was so magical and for the first time i was speechless in italy - not because i couldn't speak the language but because i couldn't find the words to say what i was feeling. it was unreal.

politics of american men.

you'd think that being in italy - i would be surrounded by sexy men, but no.
for the most part everyone i have seen here this past week has been short, super skinny, and better dressed than i am.
at home, everywhere i look i see someone ideal - tall, buff, strong, handsome, athletic. and here, i run in the park and get nasty, confused looks.

yesterday i talked to angelo, a friend of mine from home. we have never dated, but we speak on a regular basis. we live far away and things just never end up working out for us, so the only time we have ever hung out was actually the first time we hung out, two years ago around halloween.

he wants to come visit me and is currently planning a trip here. it's scary and forward and yet i am excited.

then i think about the greek boy - how much i begged him to come visit when we were together. how i pictured us in italy together, taking pictures of everything, kissing, eating amazing food. he was always hesitant and i was always pushy.

and even in a good moment with angelo telling me he is coming to visit - i think of the greek boy.

as i was thinking, i look at my computer and i have an e-mail, from non-other than the greek. we hadn't spoken since our break up and seeing his name caused me to hold my breath. my eyes almost immediately swelled with tears. as much fun as i am having, i do miss him. as good as our break up was for me, it still hurts. and as much as i thought i was over him, i'm not.

his e-mail was short, brief, non-emotional, almost political. telling me he doesn't hate me, he wants his sweatshirt back, that he hopes i'm having fun and he wishes me the best.

i wanted to scream, to cry, to break down. but i calmly responded, also politically.

it is almost more painful to be political, to hear the generic responses instead of what you really feel. i told him i wish him happiness, hope for the best. and deep down i do, but on the surface i want him to miss me, i want him to be hurting, i want him to feel as badly as i do whenever he sees my name.

i would give anything to have him here with me in italy, in this moment of weakness. i know we aren't good together, we have fallen out of love or maybe we were never in love at all. but for a short time he was the only person i cared about more than myself.

remembering distractions.

I have caught myself trying to hold onto stories and memories from the states recently, as a way of making myself more comfortable here in Italy. Just thinking about my friends or things that have made me laugh brightens the mood and allows me feel slightly more secure in a completely new and terrifying situation.

I think about R, the first boy to kiss me after the greek. I think about our one night together, how passionate and crazy it was. How we laughed together like old friends. How comfortable we were talking. How easily I fell asleep in his arms. He had such strong arms, I remember feeling them and being so impressed I made him do push ups in front of me. I think about the nights we stayed up talking, the hurricane that ruined our plans to see one another. I remember feeling so giddy and excited hearing his voice, and yet so disappointed at the timing of our meeting. When I think about him, I sometimes wish I could be back home.

Then I think about Li, all those nights I slept over her apartment and we woke up to no food in the house. I remember driving late night to McDonalds after already eating hot pockets. I remember how we met the Canadians and ended up the next morning, lost yet slightly wealthier from our accomplishments. I remember all those times I would be upset about the greek boy, how he broke my heart and never called again, and she would be upset about another dumb idiot and we would give one another short and sweet pep-talks and then we would just go dance the night away – happy and free. Li is one of those friends that lets you have your moment of weakness or lets you act out a little, but finds a way to tell you nicely that is was a little crazy and not ok. She isn’t judgmental or rude or hurtful. She is honest and thoughtful. When I think about her, it makes me wish I could have packed her in my suitcase. Being in Italy with her and experiencing this together would have been incredible.

I find myself thinking about the greek boy – how broken I was hearing him tell me that it was over, how much I gave into our relationship for nothing. Writing about him makes my eyes tear up, and I haven’t cried in so long and I refuse to cry now, but I would cry so much when we were together. I think about all the nights I laid awake while he snored next to me – wondering to myself “how could someone watch someone cry or hurt and just sleep so peacefully.” I think about the countless times I got up to leave and he just sat there and watched me and didn’t do anything. I think about all the times I apologized for feeling a certain way or for being honest and I thought about how much pain I felt. Our break up seemed effortless because I had already mourned the death of our relationship while we were still dating. When I think about him, I am so glad I’m free and in Italy. I am so excited to fall in love with this country because now I have extra room in my heart to fill with love.

Then there are the stories that I think about, the hilarious, outrageous moments that deserved to be captured.

Like when Jake went through my phone before living Li’s apartment, found text messages between R and me. The next day told me what he had done and I was just shocked. Seriously now, what grown man goes through the phone of a woman he isn’t dating, literally six hours after they met. It’s bizarre and unnerving. I’m no one’s property and yet there is always someone who is hurt that that is the case.

My first weekend home I went out with J and a bunch of his college friends. Walking back from 7-11 around 3 am drunk, we watched a motorcycle crash into a light pole. The streetlights broke and tumbled over and motorcyclist stumbled off into a car with some friends and left his bike in the middle of the street in Philadelphia.

Waiting for a cab with my friend Alex, I was goofing around and I kicked my leg up – not super high but high enough. Alex, one of my good friends from high school and someone that you would not think of as being flexible and agile, swung his leg high over his head (way higher and more accurate than mine) and shouted “boom baby!” and I just remember the pure laughter that followed.

I remember going to PBR with Li one night and she called me after very upset – I honestly thought she was hurt. I rushed over to her apartment to find he next door at Dan’s. The door, unluckily locked, I banged a little bit – still afraid that something was wrong. Li opened it, hair a mess, make up coating her face, sleeping on the couch but not looking upset – me looking like a huge asshole for nearly breaking down someone else’s door to get to her. Luckily, we left right then.

The stalkers of august deserve to have a little light cast onto them – mitch who demanded I date him, crazy joe with the obsessive text messaging, and vic – the wannabe tease. It was just too much to handle at certain times.

Going home and seeing mandi, drinking wine on my back porch and chain smoking cigarettes and prank-calling every number in my phone. Mandi does not have the type of family ties that I have. She can wander without fear where as I have to be home at a certain time every night for dinner. She now lives in Boston and was home for a few days to be “with her family” – she stayed the first two nights at my house, the next day drove back to Boston. Had dinner with her mother and sister once and stayed on with me to be my partner in crime. True friendships like that never end and every time we see one another, it’s just like senior year of high school again.

My sister Katharine and I have been working on our relationship lately. We have this pattern of being friendly, having a huge fight, and then not talking for months, years at a time. We are in the friendly stage currently. Meaning, we can drink wine, smoke outside and laugh at the expense of other people together. Not real sisterhood but we are attempting.

I think about all these stories, all these people that have made me laugh or made me cry. All the moments in time that I have allowed myself to remember so vividly and hold so closely. I think about all the times when I was not strong and all the moments where I found strength again. Mostly I think about all the things I have forgotten, all the moments I have let slip away. Why certain things hold more closely to my heart than others. Part of the purpose for writing this blog was to remember things that have happened to me, especially while I travel but in average days of my life as well. I want to grow up knowing that the meaning of life is not in one huge influential moment – but in many tiny, sometimes unnoticeable steps that lead to that moment. I am in no way an expert or a writer or a professional blogger, but I want to remember it all. I want to remember who has hurt me, how deeply I loved and trusted, and how beautiful the sky looked the first day I stepped off of the plane in Italy.