Lungomare

The morning after and a single sentence text message from Henry: "I feel so close to you when we're apart". I can't remember calling him, maybe in a dream or a fantasy.

Later on the train we watch Rome pass us by in torn shades of yellow, orange and red. First the churches, then the post-war suburbs and the poverty. Stephanie leaning silently against my shoulder, her soft chestnut hair smells of early spring and cigarettes. "Do you ever miss LA?" she asks and I'm lying when I tell her that I don't.

The ocean looks like a painting in Mediterranean blue, the afternoon haze makes it hard to tell where it ends and the sky begins. I've always felt calmer by the sea, as if nothing and no one is holding me back. For the longest time I thought it would end that way.