Eric came home this weekend on an impromptu train trip, and needless to say, it was very, very good. We went to the public market, where we could hold hands and wander around under a clear sky and try to wind a path through all of the interesting local people with matching hats and vendors selling cherries and herbs and lots of root-y things. I’ve always wanted to take him there, because I knew that he’d love the magical feeling it has, somewhere that we both wish we could have experienced as a type of ritual as kids. I took him to all my favorite places - the shed with different breads and handmade pasta and fresh fish with eyes still on ice, and the european cheese store that feels like it belongs in a difference place and time…we sampled all the little cheeses and I ate one called “the drunken goat” which made me laugh. After an amazing panini and san pellegrino, we drove over to Karla’s apartment and found our way (somehow, I’ve realized that I get extremely stressed out driving, especially in the city) to Boulder and I drank some very good mint tea and rested my head on Eric’s shoulder while hearing all of Karla’s stories and telling ours. We were sitting in this orange velvet couch. The rest of the day was spent picking out chocolate, sleeping on Eric’s lap on the way home, listening to some Moody Blues, laughing a whole lot on Julie’s bed with Eric, Jackie, and Julie and the cats, racing to Wegman’s for a pizza that was totally worth breaking the law for, making it home from Owen’s in five minutes (somehow), and many long, long kisses in the car that made me forget where or why we were going anywhere but right there. Yesterday. We spent some time in Java with good tea, and the rest of the day was mostly cuddling and doing things slowly and talking about the future while looking out my windows and trying to explain why the view is beautiful even in winter, when everything is brown and gray and lonely. It was crazy and we were both exhausted…and we hitched a ride to the station with Owen and listened to Edith Piaf or something in Elliott’s horrid car that smells like…I don’t even know what to call it, it’s just horrid. And funny. We waited together for his train to arrive, exchanging quiet words, and even though I was sad, it felt so true to just be there with him at that moment in time. The train came, we went outside and it felt like something I’ve read - it was cold and windy and there was smoke and the city twinkled beyond the station’s gates. What do I do? I’m so in love. Saying goodbye, and today is our six month anniversary together, and I’ve written this humongous entry and I haven’t captured a fraction of what’s there. I can’t wait for March.