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Two years ago

I was very much in love. And the Valentines Day of two years ago, was the last one I spent as part of a couple. I looked for a blog-post of mine from that day, but it wasn't there. I did find a Love Letter from February 19th, addressed to the guy I was in love with, and initially, it surprised me. Not that I wrote the love letter, but that I *didn't* write about the Valentines Day he gave to me. Thinking about it now, I know perfectly well why I didn't write about it. Bear with me; here goes. He flew to Italy from Denmark, carrying a hundred red roses and a bottle of champagne. He had booked a table in one of the fanciest restaurants of Florence and had the champagne poured and the roses brought, just as we sat down at our table. There was also musicians and everybody's eyes were on us, and the lucky girl that received such lavish attention from her man. An American couple was taking our picture (he exchanged emails with them so that they might send the pictures)
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Making a new friend

She's a friend of my brothers wife and I have met her at different family-get-togethers through the years. I always liked her, she's my own age, we have a lot of things in common. I have wanted to see her more now that I am home, but I haven't called her as much as I would like to. She called me yesterday evening and we went out for a few drinks, ended up touring around town and finished with breakfast at KFC at 4 in the morning. She slept over and we had breakfast then lunch as the hours went by and we just kept on talking; skipping effortlessly between deep and shallow,  laughing and generally having a good time. I enjoyed it  *so* much and am so happy today. It feels like I have found a new friend. I talk to my closest Italian friends a lot but they're far away, and while friendships thrive even long-distance, I miss them and would like to share this adventure with them. Not only by phone, but IRL. I would like to share my newfound love for Copenhagen, the cooking
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Tamed

I let him look at me. All of a sudden I felt him there, in the doorway of my little kitchen, felt him looking at me, my skin tingling a bit where his gaze passed over me. I hadn't heard him coming, though I was very aware of him moving around the apartment, very aware of his presence there with me. Aware of him moving around, looking at things, taking in my home with all of his senses. I had been inexplicably nervous about him coming here, had cleaned up very thoroughly and tried to see my home as he would see it. Inexplicably; because I am not one to be fazed easily. And now he was standing there in the doorway of my kitchen looking at me. And I let him look without acknowledging his presence there; leaning casually against the doorway. Much to my surprise I let him look at me working, grinding coffeebeans or whatever I was doing. Refusing to turn my head, meet his eyes and break the moment, when I suddenly got the impression that he knew, that *I knew* he was looking at me
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