Here

Perhaps there was a period of time where I romanticized the idea of home, the one that is now separated from me by an entire ocean. I did not feel fully integrated into my new location and so the natural transgression of this feeling was to attach my identity to something. In a somewhat cliche way though, it happened overnight and suddenly I was at home. We have our table in the afternoons at a cafe where we share an espresso or an allonge and savour the tiny chocolate that accompanies it. The waiter at the bistro recognizes us and is surprised when on this occasion we do not order escargot. I replace the flowers in my makeshift vase on Thursdays when the flower market materializes for a few brief hours in the square. On Sundays as the town quiets and shutters close we try a new croissant and find a new spot to test it against all the others. I lay in the park and watch the stars come out and cheers to new friends and new places and everything that is so beautiful about this moment. In the same way in which I could not imagine what my life would be like here I can no longer imagine leaving.