M and I often joked that we spent the first year of dating apart more than together. Leaving him at the end of sophomore year was hard, and I immediately began counting the days until he would visit. He was in Colorado most of the summer so it wasn't like we could just drive to one another on the weekends. I have many wonderful handwritten letters from that summer, exchanged back and forth across the many miles.
He came for about a week just before school started and before I was to fly off to Italy. I was on cloud nine. I probably had the biggest smile plastered across my face all week. Watching him drive away at the end of that week nearly broke my heart (and his, I'm sure). My poor mother spent the rest of the following week trying to comfort my tear stained self. As any normal melodramatic young love, I was sure I was going to curl up and die without him for the next 4 months.
About a week after he left I received a package in the mail, that along with other things, contained a dated letter for each week I was in Italy. I wasn't supposed to open them until the date written on the outside. Each week was filled with anticipation of opening the next letter. It was a way of counting down the days til I was home and could see him again. I distinctly remember getting to half way and thinking, "finally... it's downhill from here."
But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me back up and tell you about Orvieto...
(next time!)
1 comment:
strange / neat to think i am a minor side character in this story :)
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