Postcards from Italy

It's not that I'm lonely. It's really not. I like being alone and I like the little visits I get from Polly during the day and the occasional street noise and the occasional quiet. I like walking into our bedroom for no reason and standing in the middle, staring at our lives combined; his bed and my blankets, his bookcase with both our books, my wardrobe with his clothes. It was a very natural thing to happen and we have lived together for a year and a half but I still stand quietly and turn slowly, staring. I marvel at this sight and yet I can't remember when it was any other way. And I like that it's our apartment and the space we share and there's no one else. I'm very selfish in that way but I like that it's only us.