Ah friends, that euphoric moment when we were closer than blood relatives is long past. That moment when the single bottle of wine entered all of our bloodstreams, conjoining us in what we thought, what we convinced ourselves, would last forever. We spoke petty secrets in the night that we swore we would never tell another soul.
Naturally, we knew, what we pushed into the backs of our minds, that this moment would not last past those three months. But who cared of that then? No, we said to ourselves, we will always be family. No matter what comes of us, the names of those there with us would be engraved forever in our souls.
It was a lie from the beginning, but we cherished that lie. We embraced that lie with every brushstroke and thinning of paint. We covered it in plaster and melted out the wax to fill it with bronze. We breathed it in with the chink of the tools against alabaster. Our lies would chip off like those fragile shards to reveal the hideous masterpiece of truth underneath.
I started writing this ages ago. I would have deleted it only except for the awesome title.
Oddly, I find myself missing Cortona... what is even sadder is that I don't necessarily miss the people, my friends that I made in Cortona, but Cortona and indeed Italy. Every artwork I see that I saw in Cortona, In Firenze, in Roma, in Urbino and everywhere else, these were my old friends. I knew their faces before Cortona. We had good conversations, old those paintings and I. I used to curse at them and I tried to memorize unfamiliar Italian names which sounded funny on my lips. Nanni Di Banco, Ghiberti, Bruneleschi... how was I supposed to get all these ridiculous sounding names straight? Why do I care what they carved, bronzed or built? But now I speak their language a little better and can respond in kind words and light jokes.
I miss the streets of gold after it rained and the uneven sidewalk. I miss the incredible view and the stars at night. I miss thinking to myself, 'I can't believe it, I'm actually here.' I miss Bella and all of Gino's wildly inappropriate comments. I miss the fresh-pressed, barely even hinting at slightly fermented wine. I miss the dirt and the olive trees. I missed the one-eyed kitten and the boccie court. I miss the walnut trees and the pears. I miss pasta in the kitchen every afternoon and drinking orange juice out of wine glasses. I miss the chocolate, hot and otherwise. I miss the pub and the theater. I miss the history and everything that had the crest of the Medicis. Yes, these are the things I miss.
I'll return to these things one day, and we will walk together, making fresh memories.
