Memories of a Cachique

I want to choose who I love, but I can't, so I just hurt myself even more by thinking about it.

I think that's something most of us have experienced: choosing between those you want. Or have, in some cases. Especially if you're not usually the monogamous type.

Unfortunately, for me, I am.

It's a silly situation, I know. Especially since I already know what I should do. Either stay in my current relationship or be alone. The other guy is too much trouble for me to handle: sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. I can't fix him and I wouldn't want to. (I'm laughing a little now: I make it sound like he's some mechanical toy that has fallen into disrepair. Laughing again a little; that sounds quite wrong too.) Italian wine and salted ciabatta bread couldn't get me to go for him, much less any fancy dinner.

Not like with the person I'm with now.

I remember when we couldn't get a room in Rome for the night and we ended up outside, in the cold, without any place to go. The trains going back to Florence, going anywhere were on strike until the morning. And there we were: lost, nearly broke, desperate. We ended up sleeping under numerous awnings and by the train station itself. Even though it was physically exhausting, it was still wonderful, because it felt like I was home, heaven even. And it wasn't just because of where I was. I was literally surrounded by marble and cobblestone roads, roads that led to crumbling ruins of once great arenas. Yet it was much more because of the fact that I was with of someone that really cared for me, who had taken care of me even when I was sick, even when he didn't know me very well.

What is it worth to lose something like that? Over what? A one-night stand, a slap in the face?

Besides, I wouldn't pass up Rome for anything.