our 2 year anniversary
Good morning my beautiful, beautiful friends.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
It’s a sunny, Wednesday morning in Milano. The one thing that everyone in Rome was right about - was the Milan weather. Last week, it was 7 consecutive days of grey and rain. Meanwhile, the Romans are sitting and eating outside in the 18 degree sunshine. Fine. I’ll let them have that one.
It’s almost 9 AM, and I’m curled up on my friend’s sofa. I have a little cup of espresso beside me. Lavazza, Crema e Gusto. The best one. It’s absolutely quiet, besides the little tap of my fingers on the keyboard. I’m watching as the sun streams through the curtains, how it hits the reflection of the yellow stucco of the buildings behind me, and how it leaves little squares of sunshine on the floor.
I can’t believe it’s been two years of me writing to you. And I realized something - this newsletter, and this growing community, has been the one constant in my life over the past two years.
The settings and the characters - they keep changing, but our connection, our conversations, and our understanding of each other, will always stay the same.
Sometimes, we’re in the heart of Rome. A drunk cigarette in hand, leaned up against that white brick wall, staring at the tower in the centre of the parking lot. Finding ourselves in entanglements, finding ourselves wrapped up in the tattooed arms of (a few) bartenders, counting down the hours until our best friends in Toronto wake up so we can fill them in on the latest.
We survived heatstroke, we barely survived heartbreak, but we spent our days eating pizza con potate, and our evenings in the middle of bustling trattorias. It’s always a bottle of red, 2 plates of l’amatriciana, and, of course, gossip.
We’ve been in Florence. We’ve been curled up in the corner spot of a cafe, drinking the fluffiest of cappuccinos before walking up Piazzale Michelangelo, and sitting on a bench for hours in the rose garden. Surrounded by the pinks, the oranges, the yellows, the whites. The smell of roses would linger on us all day, and we’d feel like a walking poem.
Sometimes, we’re in a small town by the Ligurian sea. Allowing ourselves to breathe again. Spending the September days in the sun, lying beside the old Italians who read the newspaper and smoke cigarettes all day by the water. Befriending a nonna (Lu - we love her) at the local cafe. Being scolded at how bad our Italian is, but being double kissed and told how beautiful we are at the same time.
And now, we’re in Milan. Needing to freeze our credit card - because we have never fallen so quickly back in love with shopping. We’re building our business (shout out Aeris) and running these incredible writing workshops. We’ve met incredible writers and readers, who hold the biggest space in our hearts - especially those who have lost someone close to them, and have found comfort and home in these words.
Our hearts, they’re more fragile. But you know what I realized? What a privilege it is to fall in love with someone who has lost someone else. Our pain has made us more vulnerable, and yes, we’re more guarded. But it’s our appreciation. For each and every moment that passes us by. We hold on to it, we hold on so tightly to it. We need to immortalize it through art. Because we know what a gift it is, to experience everything.
And after all this time, I can confidently say this: we believe in ourselves.
So, as I sit here, curled up with my second espresso, Kacy Musgraves’ Rainbow on repeat (shout out to Karlie Flood for introducing me to Kacy - Karlie is one of my favourite Internet writers and human beings that I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting + absolutely loving) I wanted to go back down memory lane, and share some of favourite musings and memories over the past two years with you:
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Reflections From A Morning After:
(April, 2022)
The air smells like a combination of laundry and cigarettes. Have you ever had the feeling that because you don’t belong anywhere, you belong everywhere? It’s a very freeing existence. But it’s an existence that always leaves you searching for something. And I wonder what the lesser of two evils is - not being able to hold on to the moment in front of you, or having what you want and realizing it’s never going to be enough.
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(May, 2022)
When I think of the ending to one’s life, I think of a swimming pool. And I think of someone closing their eyes, and jumping in. And how we will all sink to the bottom and hope that there is some force out there to bring us to the surface. Which is almost like a prayer in itself.
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(July, 2023)
I spent years escaping the men in suits. The conformity. The bounds. The egos, the belittlement. Trying to fit into a mould that never fit, no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t think my art would ever be taken seriously from a man, “no one goes into writing to make money”, and my vulnerability was seen as a weakness.
But then there was you.
“You took this moment, Emily, that me and you shared. You took this moment and you turned it into something that … I don’t think a lot of people would be able to do. You took those four words, of ‘I just need time’. And you understood exactly what it was that I was saying, without me having to say it.”
You believed in me. And I believed in you.
(Jan, 2023)
I want to continuously celebrate those moments of freedom. To go to sleep at 2 and wake up past noon. The cold showers after a summer’s walk, and the hot showers right before falling asleep. Cleaning up the espresso that spills on my stove every morning. Getting the last table outside at my favorite cafe. Red nails, cappuccinos past 11, white wine at 2, the afternoon nap with that book half open beside you. Sex and cigarettes, cigarettes after sex, and breaking some promises while keeping one:
Here’s to freedom baby, and I’ll love you forever.
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And what a way to end this letter.
Here’s to freedom. Here’s to love. Here’s to sex and cigarettes. Here’s to falling into the arms of tattooed bartenders. Here’s to being called baby. Here’s to those endless train rides. Of going nowhere, but going everywhere. Here’s to those suitcases full of silk dresses and boyfriend blazers. Here’s to home. The home that’s always within us. The home that isn’t going anywhere.
Here’s to understanding. Here’s to so many more letters, so many more.
And here’s to you.
My constant. Thank you for being my constant.
I love you, more than you’ll ever know.
Xo,
Emily
here’s to YOU 🫶🏼