[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=biJ3FP8aDjY&fs=1&w=500&h=306]

Some days, I am filled with melancholy. It is the curse of being Italian. We feel things. Deeply.

The days are filled with lasts. Reminders that the time is growing near. There are but a few brief months left to his senior year. August will be here before I know it and he will be gone, on his way to begin a journey I must watch from afar.

He is ready.

In the middle of the night I struggle to remember the little boy that was. When darkness blankets the house and the silence grips me, the tears come.

I wish I had written down the poetry.