him.
I walked to the end of my terminal happy to have spent the time in a beautiful and magical city and with wonderful people. I was boarding my plane with a heavy heart that I was leaving something I wanted to be by my side the whole flight back home. A hot stream of water began to fill in my eyes, blurring my vision as I blinked to force them down my face. Why was I crying? I didn't even cry when I was leaving Italy... I had a mixture of heart pangs and being overwhelmed by gracious hosts. The hospitality I had experienced was something that made me feel warm and invited. I cried because I was leaving two cities that were destined to be called home in another year or so. I cried because my heart had attached itself. It had been warmed by the friendly dispositions of the city and had fallen for the character it possessed. The heart is a tricky thing when it wants to be. It can thrive on emotions, it can thrive on insecurities and hopes and words. It is a powerful well of strength when...