I woke up to the sound of rain this morning. When I got up, I opened the windows in my room and saw people in the street below walking briskly with umbrellas in hand. When I looked out to the hills leading to Fiesole, I wanted to smile, but all I felt was sadness.
I've always felt that rain was the universe's way of crying. And many dry months, it has finally let its tears flow. And so did I.
Loss is complicated, yet quite interesting. Somehow anything that resembles loss comes to the surface for me. My mother, my father, and now my marriage.
I'm not about to tempt my fate by asking how much loss one person can endure, but I do wonder.
I stood out in the rain on my terrace to look out at my beloved city. I didn't feel much joy, but I did feel peace. My tears dried up as the rain hit my face. The rain drops seemed to cleanse me, and made me feel lighter.
Even though I feel this stream of sadness running through me, I do feel much peace and hope somewhere deeper inside of me. This mix of emotions are certainly new to me, and makes me question everything.
I sometimes sit in my quiet and dark room and fantasize about my dreams coming true, finding love, and being blissfully happy. I feel that these wishes are all at my fingertips, but that I must be patient. I do know that this period that I'm in right now is unique and will prove to be incredibly beneficial to me and to my life.
And what better place for me to go through this "death" in order to be reborn than Florence, where the Renaissance supposedly originated.
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