Stealing Beauty

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Lucy longed for her Italian lover-to-be.

This afternoon while I was having a very unromantic, yet passionate, battle with the roots of some sort of gorilla-grass plant that has made it’s home in my front bed – my mind drifted back to a movie I watched when I was 16. Lucy’s poet-mother committed suicide and she bolted to Italy to find herself, and her father. The scenes were breathtaking. I wanted to go to Italy then and there. I wanted to be the emotionally raw and bright eyed Lucy writing letters to an Italian boy, and losing her virginity under an olive tree. The artist in me yearned, and the romantic in me had found a new, stubborn standard.

These little flashbacks remind me of what a wonderful journey this life has been – and how domestic this artist-heart has become. Main street and mainstream ways. The speed of life steals the beauty in our moments.

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