The Lifespan of a Fly


If I could relive any day of my life
July 12, 2010, 7:40 AM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , ,

It wouldn’t be one from my childhood when I always felt awkward and too tall. It wouldn’t be my highschool years, full of misunderstood anger and frustration. It wouldn’t even be last week, dragging myself through the monotony of a day job. It would be May 11, 2008 and it was in Venice.

We had spent a week travelling through Italy, drinking wine and eating pasta and tomatoes. At nights we’d grab a few bottles of wine, and there is no bad wine in Italy, and position ourselves around the fountain in the square. Munching on freshly baked breads, we would people watch, completely secure in our ignorance of Italian. The type of security foreigners feel. We are untouchable, we are distant and separate.

It was our first night in Venice. Mike and I were tired after a day of travelling by train and spent the afternoon in the sweet embrace of sleep. Once it was dusk, we rose and travelled into Venice for dinner and to enjoy the night life. We were enjoying our cheese and poppy seed gnocchi and our litre of wine (which for some reason, we thought was smaller than a bottle. Which it wasn’t), and I became aware of a breeze against my back. The zipper in my dress had split open and my backside was exposed to the garden conveniently placed behind me. I did the best I could with absolutely no instruments to save me. Which is to say I put a cardigan on and hoped it covered it up.

Tipsy from our litre of wine, we set out among the labyrinth of stone walkways and canals. All of which look exactly the same. The night was closing in and the sun had gone to bed when we arrived at San Marco’s Piazza. The moon and stars reflected off of the waterfront. Gondolas and speed boats made their way along the highway of sea. It was magical to put it lightly. We were leaned out against the water, enjoying the sights and the smells that comes with a city shrouded in legend and mist.

He pulled my hand out and looked me in the eyes. I could see tears reflecting the light of his blue and yellow eyes as he asked me for my hand in marriage.

If I could capture the essence of any day, if I could re-live any moment, it would be the one where we pledged ourselves to each other, under the light of the moon, shrouded by our foreignism, protected by our love

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