Granada

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Granada was fresh and fragrant in the morning. The river woke me up. The patio windows were opened the night before. We were in a castle, a little breeze and sunshine touching my skin and your skin. You held me close in the morning. Reality never sank in. We walked the night before to feel Spain under our feet together for the first time. The city was empty, it was just me and you and stones. It was late and we walked and walked miles and miles to come back to the point where we had started. So many hidden places to walk through. So many names to remember.

The hotel was so perfect. The bed and the windows. Long windows. Wood windows. White linens. The small old patio facing the Alhambra. It was my first night in Spain. Granada was so mysterious then. And we were still learning how to deal with ourselves and our aspirations. My decisions so firm and so in line with "I don't want to suffer another loss".


And in the morning I drank champagne. To celebrate life, I suppose. I don't collect memories anymore. They used to hurt. So I let them go. The past, I realize, doesn't exist anymore. Neither do you. 

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