 | | 2013-05-04 08:24
From blog Amy Nelson
flower petal pants
All day I dream through the conversations I have with my mother. She is in Rome right now with my dad and soon will be taking a train to Florence. We only talk through broken telephone calls. Every once in awhile the sound stops working and all I can hear is something that sounds like a bee farm. It's not easy to hear the voice of a loved one so faraway, even worse is to hear their voice fade out like a forgotten dream. You start to realize the sky's vast depth and how without those you love around you, you're nothing but a shadow. My parents will be home soon and I plan to squeeze their Italian feast-filled bellies and beg them to...
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