220 miles an hour to Rome

Two hundred and twenty miles an hour on my way to Rome, I am leaving all of them behind me. The ones that said things, did things, told lies and partial truths. Those that were unable, unwilling, but all willing... to take with them a piece of me.

Traveling far from home, I travel far from home. I stand outside the gates of my house and I see inside. Behind the doors, behind the curtains, under the beds and beneath the floors, I can see what's been hidden, and the things I only thought I'd thrown away.

Two hundred and twenty miles an hour on my way to Rome. I look to my left and see another life, and I remember the first time I ever stepped on foreign ground-how magical it all felt, and how long ago it all was. It was as if I had no idea there was a place on the other side of the world. I couldn't stop smiling then, just to hear the unfamiliar sound of a police siren, or see a traffic sign in a language I could not read.

I look to my left, out onto the Italian countryside, and feel the absence of that magic. And I miss it. I am at ease, at peace and in turmoil at the same time; a state of being that until now has seemed to define most of my life. Grateful for the solitude, sorrow for what is gone, pleased with the woman I've become, yet wishing I were were something else, something better, something more. Longing to feel what I felt in Madrid all those years ago; and always hoping to stumble upon the kind of love I once knew over the course of days almost three years ago.

Traveling far I travel far, and traveling fast I travel fast. All at once I want to leave it behind; my country, my city, my memories; and every undeserving man I gave my gifts to. All at once I want to leave behind me, and take hold of my own hand, and ride this train to Rome at 220 miles an hour until I arrive. I want to close the lids on my green eyes that a lover once kissed, and feel the instant warmth that is a constant because of my child. Then when it all slows down, I want to step off this train and into Rome-into the history and the beauty and the gifts of it all, and into the history and the beauty and the gifts of me.