Go Away

A long time ago...


It Remains.

I thought it would go away. No, that's not true. I hoped it would go away. That it would fade and diminish and slowly go away. Slowly be forgotten.

I hoped in the same way that a man - probably desperate and hungry and down to his last ten dollars - hopes to win the lottery. In all his logic and reason, he understands the odds of winning. Understands that it's a lost cause. That it ain't gonna happen.

Yet he buys the ticket. He buys it still. He buys it because that's his only shot - his only way out.

I have distractions. Work. Rome. Travel. Friends. Chiara D. Chiara P. Costanza. Italian. History. Drinking.

Yea...I have all the distractions a man could ask for. Sometimes, they are enough. Sometimes It decides to rest. To go sit in the corner and not disturb.

But that does not last.

A Letter...

Maybe I give you more pain. Maybe it was a mistake to take your phone number in class. And to meet you in the garden and to kiss you in Villa Borghese. Maybe it was a mistake to start a story with you. Maybe it was a mistake to believe that you loved me. And maybe it was a mistake to allow myself to love you – and to tell you that I loved you.

I don’t know Valeria. Maybe.

But I know that I wanted nothing else in those moments, than what happened. I wanted to take your number more than anything. I wanted to meet you in the garden and to kiss you in Villa Borghese more than anything else. I wanted to start a story with you. I wanted to believe that you loved me and – more than anything else in all the world – I wanted to love you. And to tell you that I loved you.

Today is October 5th. Maybe in my life I will never know love again. Maybe you never loved me and maybe you never will. But now I know what love looks like because you showed me. You showed me every time you told me your dreams. You showed me every time you talked about North Carolina and Asheville and Smoofie. I felt it every time you put your head on my shoulder.

You wrote in my diary “don’t forget me never”. It would be impossible to forget you, Valeria. And it would be impossible to forget us. It would be impossible to forget the first time I saw you at school. It would be impossible to forget how nervous I always got before class. It would be impossible to forget the time you said to me:

“I don’t understand all the English words. But I understand this (you pointed to your eyes), and I understand how I feel.”

“I’m scared that you go back to North Carolina…but I want to know you. If you want.”


It would be impossible to forget all the times you said:

“Jonathan, don’t go back to North Carolina. It’s not fair that everyone gets you for more years, but I get you only a few months.”

“We have more things to discover together. We have to walk on the street in the center during winter – at Christmas. With big jackets and scarves. We have to go to Venezia together and visit Parigi. You have to see me play volley and go with me to my thesis.”


It would be impossible to forget our first kiss. It would be impossible to forget the time we looked at furniture in the store window. I thought about my future with you. And I was happy.

And if we stop now, you will stay with me forever. When I hear “Goodbye My Lover”, I will think of you and only you. Every time I take a coffee in the window, I will think of only you. Every place I go, you will be there. Asheville, Paris, London, San Francisco. You will be there, because you are in my heart.

I don’t know what your future is. But I know that it will be full of happiness and love because you will make it so. And if I am not in your future – you remember me. Remember the boy from North Carolina who loved to listen to your dreams. Remember the boy who loved your English, and didn’t want to change it. Remember the boy from North Carolina who wanted only to love you.

I will remember all of it, Valeria. But I don’t want it to stop. I want to have more and more things to remember. I want to make more memories with you. I want to have more than a few months with you – I want to have years with you.

And this isn’t just about you or me. This is about a story much bigger than one person or two people. This is about life and a journey and a story. I have more things to do in my life and you have more things to do in your life. You have dreams and I have dreams and some of them are equal.

But I want to do those things and dream those dreams with you.

Together.

Probably

I didn’t come here for the girl.

On May 8th of 2006, I didn’t know a Valeria.

I didn’t come here for her and I didn’t come here for any other person. I came here for me.

I have lived a long time without her and I lived in this city for weeks without her.

But now, I don’t know if I can continue to live in this city without her. Nearly everything in this city - everything that I touch and see and smell - has been painted a different shade by her and by us. I see her at work. I see her at the lake in EUR. I see her at my apartment. My God, do I see her at my apartment.

It seems as if every piece of this city - every side street and corner and stair - has been touched by us.

Our first kiss in Villa Borghese.
The tram going up Via Flaminia to my first apartment.
The furniture store near Piazzale Flaminio.
Parking her car near Piazza del Popolo.
Dinner at Il Brillo.
San Pietro at night - “our spot”.
Shopping on Via del Corso - “Jam” and “Zara” and “Energie”.
Going to Piazza Venezia for a cappuccino and only a cappuccino.
Sitting and talking - at the beginning - on a bench on Via dei Fori Imperiali.
Termini taking the trains to Siena and Perugia.
Piazza Navona at Christmas, one week before I left.
Circo Massimo in silence, listening to each other, existing together.
The rose garden above Circo Massimo, when she called and told me she left her boyfriend.
Trastevere - all of it.
Driving on the Cristoforo Colombo.
Viale Marconi - walking and shopping, at Christmas, with big jackets.
Walking around San Paolo Basilica, knowing her.
Watching her give her thesis at her university - Roma Tre.
The McDonald’s on Viale America.
My school - where I met her the first time.
Via Fiume Giallo.
Ostia.

There are hundreds. They cover the entire city and not many hours go by consecutively without me seeing or hearing or feeling one of these. I have lived but a few weeks in this city without her and that has become painfully, painfully obvious.

I didn’t come to this city because of her.

But probably, I will leave this city because of her.