Well, To Be Honest
I’ve gone to a few of my old favorite places–the Salamandra with Jasmin, the Indian restaurant with Cristina, Caffe Girassol with Jesus (though I’m a terrible friend to him) and with the journal in which we converse. And each of these places somehow doesn’t reek with sentimentality, as I’d expected. It just seems like I never left. And this is strange.
You could say that I’m still twirling around the notion of “home” like a pinwheel in an uncertain, but pleasant ocean breeze.
(Photo from the Lisbon Underground with Cristina J. in the foreground)