IT'S ALIVE!!!!!!

I can almost smell home. I can see the faces of my friends, and the fur of my dog, and the color of my bedsheets and the sound of my music. I can smell New York City. Hot dogs and sweat and exhaust fumes and those sugary peanuts that everyone eats even though no one is sure where they come from. I'm just not..quite..close enough to touch it.

School is almost done, and it is so hot.

I have never wanted to go home so badly, nor have I ever wanted so desperately to remain.

I must combine worlds. Sicily and New York. Mixed in a very large mixing bowl to become a new reality, just for me.

Selfishly, I want to combine borders, cultures, languages, and friends.

I want everything and everyone all at once, without losing anything.

I am a child. I want my comfort, and I want it now now now now now.

I want the quiet and peace of Gigi and pepas house, mixed with the craziness that is my friends. I want Daniela and Lisa to tell me to stop smelling all of the lotion in the supermarket, and I want Erica to assure me that it's okay, because it makes me special. I want to snuggle with my dog, and fall asleep watching Dr. House, but when I wake up I want to be able to walk out the door and onto the sandy beach of the Mediterranean. I want to attend school in english, but joke in italian. I want to love un ragazzo, but I want him to live in America with me. I want my parents, but I also want my host brother and sister.

I want to craftily mold my lives into one, and live in this psuedo-reality for ever and ever.

I'll enter my old world, only to mourn my former. The italian amanda is going to die (or at least be brain dead and clinging to life....) The american amanda has long been buried. The only things left are the cold, white bones. I'm gonna create a new frankenstien existance, slabbing together the new and the old parts. Heart from america. viens from italy. languages of bones stringing it all together.

I'm coping as best I can.

runneth over

Nothing is important anymore .Nothing matters more than the crocus like lust that is blooming within the small intimate spaces between me and my bello, incredibile, ragazzo.

You tell me that my hair looks like tuscany, and that I smell like rock and roll.

I want to crawl into your pores and snuggle within the spaces inbetween your ribs.

We speak in whatever language suits our fancy. We joke in italian, explain complicated concepts in english, we curse in both. Ti amo, i love you, ti voglio bene, sei troppo incredibile, you get better the more I see you.

Our occasional language barrier makes us laugh. Makes us fall to the floor with tears in our eyes. We exchange pleasantries and flowers. Kisses and fingers. Nose to nose. We kiss in a language that is all our own.