I saw your face once.
You spoke to me in beautiful Italian, your eyebrows were scarred from violent protests and a haphazard sense of safety. You whispered sweet nothings into my ears and took me on a journey through skyscrapers and steaming sewer gates. You left me on Saint Marks with only a free ride in my back pocket and my name in your hands.
You were the love of my life.
May we meet again in the concrete jungle.