In Italy, you never know if people are coming or leaving, if moments are beginning or ending, and history and recession and winding roads from the hills to the sea all run together, but there's a consolation - there will always be pasta on the table.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Friday, May 23, 2014
There are voices I love to hear in the morning, and fall asleep to as they murmur along with the constant London rain, my family across the ocean. There aren't words to describe the way these fingers and toes and livers and spleens have wriggled their way into my heart.