Before we move on
‘I want to remember how good this feels,’ I said to myself out loud, wading into the sea with my arms splashing clear blue water up the skies, laughing, finding myself in the most exquisite of states: contentedness. ‘This. This is the feeling I’ve been chasing.’ I let out a silent prayer of thanks, turning my face up to the low summer sun that was beginning its evening hiding practice behind the terracotta houses of the coast. I was in Sicily, drunk on a little too much sun and a whole lotta love. My housemates, the ones I live with in London , had flown out to pass my final days in Italy with me, and together we’d taken Palermo by storm. From 4 a.m. piazza drinking and flirting with the locals, to trips to Europe’s largest theatre to see beautiful ballet and glimpse a piece of history; from backstreet markets and seaside seafood restaurants to prosecco by the bottle and pasta by the greedy forkful, I was suddenly sharing a slice of the country that made me with two of the people who’