I lost Sarah There was this Russian drama professor at my school. She had east Asian features and when we looked at each other I think we saw a strange reflection of ourselves. I remember feeling an odd warmth for her-she always smiled at me like a sister. She sat down and talked to me by a fountain once. We talked about family and identity and desire and art and stared into each others faces without shyness. There are dreamlike moments in life that make me feel more real than setting an alarm clock or drinking coffee or adding up a bill. She told me she knew how I felt. She told me she had no answers for me. She told me she was happiest when she painted in Italy. I want my Italy. And I can't explain why I feel like it's time. I can't explain why I was hesitant and scared before. I woke up today in the same bed and wandered around in the same circle through my family's house. And nothing was different- except that I was distinctly aware that it was my *family's* house. I talked to my friend and she said she didn't know me anymore. I asked her why and she couldn't answer. She said I was far away and she couldn't put her finger on why or how. I asked her if it was because I was in love. She said she knew it wasn't that. I know it isn't him. He didn't give me any answers either. But he reminded me of very old questions. And they're awake in me now. And I won't let them sleep again. |