The week is nearly over though I’m convinced it just started.
It’s funny how much quicker time seems to go by as we get older. Our days are so packed to the brim with appointments and deadlines and all that other boring adult stuff that we don’t have the time to stop and take note of the tiny, wonderful moments in our lives.
The sound of a choir singing together brings to mind harmony, exaltation, a blissful sound.
It is uplifting and joyous. It can move us emotionally and with great power. What happens when the choir sings off key? We are startled by it. We are uncomfortable with it. We look forward to when it ends.
Perhaps it is the glossy pictures in magazines or the romantic gondola rides featured in films that romanticise Venice. Yet, as I meandered across the canals of the city of water, I struggled to find the romance or beauty in the maze of streets.
So, on my second night in Venice while the setting sun drew in to the clouds overhead, I entered St. Mark’s square. I nurtured the hope of drawing away from the bustling tourist-packed passageways that ran like veins through the city.
It was an evening in late September when I knew we were losing each other.
I knew we were forgetting. So I wrote. I wrote it all, I described every memory I had with him, laced with the most magical details. The nights we talked on the phone until sunrise, the secret promises we made in the drive-thru line, the summer days he carried me across the parking lot to get ice cream. I combed through my journal entries hoping I could find the moment — the moment it all started fading. As a hopeless romantic, a firm believer in fairytales and happy endings, I didn’t understand how the stars had become so scattered and desperately clung to the hope that I could put them back in line.
That night we sat on the kitchen counter eating takeout Indian food right up until our normal bedtime. When we began to yawn you loaded blankets and pillows into the truck and I made a pot of coffee with more beans than probably necessary.
We cozied into the front seat and sipped from our shared thermos, burning our lips on the edge. Your laughter kept wrapping around me like the warmth from a living room hearth. We listened to ‘90s hits and reminisced about high school and Pearl Jam albums. All the falling I’d been doing this year felt safely in the past as we drove.