Top ten stats of Friday so far.
10. The amount of minutes it took me to get myself out of bed.
9. The number of dreams I had about the luthier last night.
8. The current time.
7. The number of texts I’ve swapped with the luthier so far today.
6. How many times I’ve said, “I wish it was Saturday.”
5. How many minutes until I probably cry again.
4. How many times I’ve cried so far today.
3. The number of friends who have checked in on me already today.
2. My favorite number.
To take the edge off my daily suffering, I booked an apartment in Sperlonga for the luthier and I to visit for a set of days. Most of the time while I’m there, I’ll be in the vicinity of his family – because that’s how Italians roll.
Sperlonga looks divine. Our apartment has a double balcony overlooking the sea. Having not been with my favorite love for nearly two weeks is literally almost killing me… an Italian loft apartment by the sea with our name on it helped make my morning a smidge better – I suppose.
It’s still a material thing. All I want is him. It’s all I think about. It’s all I breathe.
To contribute to my angst, I’ve been listening to really beautiful Italian love songs and translating the lyrics. I figure if I’m going to be tortured, I’d prefer it full throttle.
Quando sei qui con me
Questa stanza non ha più pareti..
Quando tu sei qui vicino a me questo soffitto viola non esiste più….
…Io vedo il cielo sopra noi…
Che restiamo qui
Abbandonati come se
Non ci fosse più niente al mondo…
When you are here with me
This room has no walls ..
When you are here close to me this purple ceiling no longer exists ….
… I see the sky above us …
That we stay here
Abandoned as if
There was not anything in the world …