In any case, the past couple of weeks have been blissful, and difficult. The heater in our apartment (shared by 5 people) was not working for two weeks. And it was very cold here. It was almost colder inside then outside and I had taken to wearing about 3 layers of clothes, gloves and a scarf indoors. I was feeling terrible with a sore throat- thinking that sickness was soon approaching. Cazzatore made me tea and we would curl up under his blankets and watch movies. Finally, at the end of last week, the repair technician showed up and fixed the heater. And thank goodness, because it has only gotten colder and now there are winter storms complete with hail and wind. We only turn it on occasionally, but it is enough to keep away the frostbite.

It was recently Cazzatore’s birthday. We went out Saturday night to have pizza. There were four of us: me, him and two of our roommates. We had a lovely time, complete with a cake that one roommate had made. We ate and drank, and returned home, preparing to go back out- but ended up calling it a night as the effects of the prosecco and beer took hold. On Sunday I made him an omelette that ended up being more of a scramble due to the fact that every pan here sticks terribly and I am not a really great cook.  After breakfast, we went out to watch part of the Florence Marathon. It was cold out, and had been raining that morning, but stopped in the afternoon. A crowd gathered at different points to watch the runners go by. They were yelling words of encouragement like “forza!” and “dai!”. I had to laugh, because “dai” sounds like “die” and that is exactly what the runners looked like they wanted to do. I ran a marathon in 2006 in Honolulu, and having never run before I started training for that, I can attest to the pain they were feeling. I remember how it felt to run past groups of supporters, pushing my body to its limits. I remember the grimace, being on the verge of torture and bliss. The accomplishment of finishing. All of these things came flooding back to me as we watched, and I cried. I cried for joy. And I decided to train again (as my running has fallen by the wayside) for the Firenze Marathon next November. I wanted to do it with Cazzatore and I told him that if we were just friends, we should do it. And he said he saw no reason why we shouldn’t do it now. I don’t know what it means. He seems so willing to commit, and yet he is so unwilling to believe he can commit.

Even with all of the mixed signals I get from him, I maintain a level of wariness and gratefulness. I am grateful for the present. I am grateful for the ability to be with him here, now. I am grateful for every kiss and every embrace because I know that it always ends too soon. We are never prepared for loss. The last kiss is never enough. We always wish for one or a million more. And if the end comes, I know that no matter how much I prepare myself, I will feel that I didn’t have enough time. It’s funny that we always remember the good times more fleetingly than the bad, no matter how long either lasted, so I am prepared to let him go. I want him to be happy, with or without me, and I want to be happy as well. And because the present is so unsteady, I am thankful that I can place my feet here for awhile, my face stuck in a grimace between torture and bliss, having the knowledge-like the runners- that I am capable of doing this, no matter how much it hurts. Because when I reach the finish I can be proud to know that I kept pushing myself to the limit, and I did something that seemed impossible at the time. And every moment, when I had to make a choice between going forward or stopping I went forward.

Each moment offers that choice. We need not think. We need only make it to the next moment. And every time I am offered the choice, for better or worse, I will choose to keep going. And in this moment, I am grateful to have someone to run with.