When are you going back?
I know it’s a well-intentioned question but it has this implication of ‘back’ being ‘back to your real life’. As if life only exists in one city or one country or with a certain person. But that’s not the truth. The truth is there is nothing to go back to, no Italy, no second home, no life elsewhere that's waiting for you on the stoop of your New York City brownstone or in the car on your street with a dozen red balloons. Life is just the now, this very exact moment that I’m talking to you or clicking these words off the keyboard at midnight on a Tuesday.
I’m trying so hard to be here because I know that in a year from now, these unquantifiable months that seem to drag on without end are going to be but a mere blip in time and suddenly I’ll be sitting in Italy, warming my hands around a ceramic espresso cup, thinking about Canada.