Do you still fear me?

I know that my dad made a very brave decision when he left most of his family behind and moved to America. I also get the feeling that he probably had to, because that's how things work here. Kay said it best in The Godfather: it never ends. That's why it hurt me when I realized that even his friends resented him for leaving, they saw it as giving up.

And maybe he did, but if he hadn't, who knows what would have happened. I feel it sometimes when I meet people from the past, they look at me in a certain way, as if I'm him even though I was just a few years old when we left. I have so much to prove, and not only to myself, but the worst part is I can never expect them to understand.


My favorite pastime

On top of the food we drink way too much, I'm constantly drunk from red wine, Limoncello and various sorts of Grappa. Tom takes it better than me, I'm a wreck in the mornings and late at night I can wake up wanting to undress him and myself and do, well, you get the picture. I think he likes it but he acts as if he's used to it. I have never asked him about his old girlfriends and he hasn't asked me, not that I have anything to say.

And that's maybe the only thing that scares me about us. I've only really been with him, and a short little fling with Henry. How can I know how anything else might have been, or might become somewhere along the way?


Office furniture

Bruno makes us the most amazing food two times a day or more, it's almost like being home with Salvatore. I miss him so much, more than anyone in my family, more than Henry, maybe even more than Avy (sorry sweetie). I don't know if it was his intention, but he slowly helped me grow up when my dad wasn't there. I need to tell him how much that meant to me, if he doesn't know that already.
Sometimes I fear that Tom is getting restless, he can sit in a chair for hours without saying a single word. I want him to love this life as much as I do so it bothers me a little. I just don't want to ruin anything by saying too much.


In the back of my mind

Another dream, this time about Henry. Tom said I was moaning, I told him I couldn’t remember what it was about. It’s almost true, I don’t know what happened, just that Henry was there, and I woke up feeling calm and relaxed.

Today we’re going for a long walk, the first in over a week. Time passes quickly if you count the days, but life is slow since not much happens here. It’s almost stressful, but I won’t let it get to me. At least now I can breathe normaly again.


Another ghost

I'm getting closer and closer to life, it's so strange how you can't remember what it's like to be fine when you're this sick.

Avy called me and told me about her seeing Henry. I don't know what to think, he's not forgotten but I haven't thought of him in a long time. Somehow I always just counted on everything sorting itself out, so that I would meet him some day and it would feel alright.

Tom knows I use his pictures on my blog but he doesn't read it. He's never even asked, and I think that's good. He's the one I want to be with, I'm sure of that, and even though Henry showed me another life than the one I used to have I'm passed that now. He was the beginning, this is the rest of it. How it ends is another matter and not one I want to think of just yet.



They are so vivid, the dreams I’m having, almost like memories. The second I wake up I see everything so clearly but just minutes later it’s gone again. I should write the stories down, but I guess it’s a little bit like trying to capture a sunset on film: something is always lost in the process.

Maybe it’s the same thing with life. I’m always terrified of letting go because I think I won’t be able to remember how pretty things were, but maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I sometimes stumble upon little things that remind me of how it used to feel, and I hope that the ability to remember means I can feel it again too. Otherwise those dreams is all that remains.


Out of the haze

I can see that I haven't posted here in almost two weeks, but I couldn't count the days even if I tried. I woke up one morning with a burning fever and since then I haven't been able to think straight. I sleep in the middle of the day with all the blinds closed, I get up late at night and wander around the house like a zombie. Tom is afraid of even talking to me, but he's trying his best to take care of me.

I would tell you something about the past days if I could, but I really don't know what happened and what was just a dream or something from my imagination. I'm getting better now, but every part of my body still hurts a little. When I'm well enough I'll try to gather my thoughts and write something about what I felt, and what I saw in the haze of my fever.

How are you?