She is Katerina and there is absolutely no one i could replace her with. She is my best friend but there is the mockery of distance and the apathy of my ridiculous character that keeps me more away than needed from her.
She is Katerina and she has been with me no matter the distance that separates us more than 10 years, while we were undergrads at college. Perhaps she is the fondest memory of the place, i still recall the moment i arrogantly asked her to give me something of her own so that i remembered her everytime i saw it. She gave me a Cross silver pen, the thin one. I write with it all these years. Then 2 years ago we were talking of pens over the phone and we got the same Parket Sonnet roller ball. This is my fav, and every day i write in it i think of her writing too.
She is Katerina and lives in Boston. A hell of a way. But i still see her in a very early morning visit from the airport to her place, after a sudden trip i had she bringing coffee in her sleepy smile. And i remember her house, sitting there for hours at the balcony, seeing the sun go down, talking talking talking and enjoying her famous latte. And listening to Ramazotti a whole summer. And then after a car accident (well i was a pedestrian and got hit by a motorbike) she was the only one to have come to the hospital to bring me clothes to change. And some many more.
She is Katerina. And she is my best ever friend.
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