Nice, France
Nice, France
The late June sky was as painfully blue as the vibrant Mediterranean Sea. The square was full of life; small trees dotted the streets everywhere with delicate lacy pink flowers, their petals floating on the sea breeze like wishes around my head. I am reminded how the French buildings make me feel … so creative and love struck and swollen in my soul. I had forgotten how much I love the South of France, distracted by the music and energy of Spain the past month. Nice is absolutely gorgeous and I curse myself for not even having a full day here.
There is so much beauty in this world that I simply cannot cope. Last night, cramped in an 18-person hostel room surrounded by strangers, I would have cut off my right arm to be home and today, I don’ t think I can ever stop living this way.
It’ s overwhelming. All of it. The people, the strangers, loving and leaving new friends, room after room with stacked bunks, getting lost and then having to leave once you’ ve finally found your bearings to a new place just to get lost and do it all over again. The late nights, the laughs, the language barriers. The long rides and sleep deprivation and filthy clothes. But the most wonderfully overwhelming of all is the beauty. It punches you right in the gut and knocks the wind out of you. And I fall in love over and over again with new places and have to tear myself to leave them, not knowing if I will ever touch them again. I think that nothing further could possibly be this beautiful and fill me this way. And I’ m wrong. I’ m wrong every time.
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