Don't get me wrong, I love the thought of going to Italy, taste-testing all of the latest treats. A canoli with powdered sugar sprinkled on top and piece of tiramisu outside on the high balcony above the street full of pedestrians, chatting the warm day away with my neighbors. Sipping on Bicerin, in a noisy yet peaceful cafe, talking about all of the worries we left in America with the man at my side. When I day dream about it, I don't see his face, but then again, I don't see myself cutting out one-inch tall letters to glue onto a poster about Italy either. Yet, here I sit.