The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.”
(Closer - by Kings of Leon)
"Are you Italian?" he asks, puzzling me.
"Do you jog
here every morning?” he asks, possibly as a conversation starter.
"No, I'm Californian. What made you think that?"
"The way you said 'ciao'. It sounded completely natural..." he responds contemplating.
"I don't know why I said that. It felt like the right thing to say," I reply, and feel his scorching gaze on my profile.