the quarter life affair

I've been home for roughly 2 days, and it's weird but it's as if I'd never left. I feel like I kind of just fell back into the life I've always had, the life that was before I ever knew Florence. Except, when out I feel weird when I stop myself from saying ciao or grazie or quanti costi or some other random Italian phrase. Instead they're thought silently. And it's weird because I'm fine here, I'm fine, I haven't broken down. Instead, I think, I think I haven't felt. I think that's what it is now. And I think that may be how it will be for a little while. I'm here and I'm fine but I don't entirely feel. Because I'm fine for as long as I don't think about it.