As I got out of the car to head in Nicky stopped me and took my hand in hers and held it as we walked into the bar. I felt funny holding her hand, li...e people were staring at us, but I couldn’t stop the warm fuzzy feeling I felt in my tummy as Nicky’s fingers intertwined with mine. So in short, I decided I was okay with holding her hand. We sat down and ordered some appetizers and snacked on them while drinking a couple of shots. We just talked about everything, it was nice. While Nicky. In my dream, Sicily was always covered in gold. Everything was gold: the golden Baroque cities glistening under the glowing sun of August, and far away, the gently rising mountains of Theocritus directing our gaze to Homer's wine-dark sea. Now when I look back at myself at the age of fifteen, I recall only two pieces of literature that lent my monotonous school life a subtle romantic air: A la recherche du temps perdu by Marcel Proust and the Eclogues by Virgil. For a short time I was so. More

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