Love, Italian Style

Most of what I know about love I learned from Italy. I’ve had lots of fun with men—and I look forward to more—but no man has beheld the wildness in my heart or tended to me with the care and intention that Italy has.

It’s in Italy that I feel most myself—that my inner judgements and cruelties fall silent, replaced with curiosities and invitations to inhabit more beauty. The precious parts of me that lie dull and dormant day-to-day come sparkling to life. I feel vibrant and alive—like I’m real and can be seen for the first time.

Italy is no shimmering oasis. It is as broken and dysfunctional as any person, and we often clash. We haven’t been able to live together for years. But our love is set. An “ever fixed mark”. And whenever I go back, I experience the sensation of falling into the arms of the one who loves me most.

I long for the day I can return to those arms again.