the ordinary things.

I keep trying to remember things that happened to me over the past four months and somehow the only things I can think of clearly are tiny things.

I can remember walking down my street or sitting on the steps of Santa Croce watching the sun go down. I can remember my cafe and the market. I can remember what it felt like to walk by a massive piece of renaissance architecture - the way it makes you feel like your floating. But I can't remember all these things together. The whole thing is in pieces, like it happened a long time ago. I can remember things, but I have yet to refeel them.

Coming home is a strange phenomenon.

My window now overlooks a power line and a gray brick house. I can sit here and see my neighbors walking their dogs, the mailman pull up the road, a lady with a cat. These are the ordinary things. I drive in a car. I call up my friends. I stay up until 3am talking to my roommate. I watch primetime tv and eat lean cuisine. My suitcases are stuck way back in my closet and will likely remain untouched for months. My passport is somewhere safe and out of reach. My money exists only in dollars. I have to buy all my groceries at a supermarket with an english name like kroger or harris teeter and there are aisles and aisles of preserved food with which to stock my massive refrigerator. I don't dress according to the weather, but according to where I am going. I miss Italy and wine and cappuccino.