Here I relax in my skin and for a moment I live here and let myself unravel what that all feels like. I let the sun dance along my neck and shoulders, and we both laugh aloud to see how long it might take before the red sinks in.
No matter—I am here
And when I'm here, I’m a writer and a poet and songstress that has no kids. I am thin without trying, and there are no stretch marks on my skin. I spend my mornings in the trees and my afternoons by the shore. I write of love and pain and the depths of wanting more. I wear shirts that reveal my belly button to the world; insecurities don’t exist here. My friends are Nonna’s I meet in the alleys while they make fresh pastas with hands that look like a grandmother’s I never knew.
And on occasion, I escape to Rome to play and hang around the centuries-old cafés and get lost in small streets, and I let my love affair with Italy completely take over the entirety of me. But I vow never to smoke.
