Missing Rome

I miss Rome.

Not the city itself, particularly. But the certainty of it. The rhythm of my days. The proximity to Mario.

Here in New York, I'm anonymous. No one knows me. No one is waiting for me. No one cares who I'm pretending to be.

Which is freedom, I suppose.

But it's also a kind of death. A death of purpose.

I need to be near Mario. I need to watch him. I need to be the person who understands him completely while he understands nothing about me.

That's the only thing that makes sense anymore.