Vienna

If someone had told me that by the age of 21, I'd be in an apartment in Vienna, drinking and talking until sunrise with people I had just met the day before, I would never have believed them. I would've said, "I can only dream of such a thing" and dream, I would.

But there I was, 21 years old, buried in a jacket and thick leggings and socks, crouched by an open window and moving onto my 7th beer, laughing at the crazy life stories being shared in my new little circle of friends. We were drinking every last drop of alcohol we could find in the house, chain-smoking cigarettes as if they didn't cost a fortune, and raiding the refrigerator for midnight snacks. The apartment was a den for us hedonistic lions.

We had only known each other for 24 hours, but we talked without inhibition. We poured out stories of love, mistakes, dreams, and fears, holding nothing against one another and raising our beers to the sky every 15 minutes, praising how lucky we were to be young and alive; drunk on life and love and the thrill of meeting people we never would have expected to encounter. 

The clock moved from 12 to 2 to 4 to 6, and slowly, the sun was rising. I shivered on the windowsill and watched the town wake up and thought of how it was one of the best nights of my life. It almost didn't feel real, but a lucid dream that I didn't want to leave. It was extraordinary, but so bittersweet not only because I knew that would I never get it back, but also that I would probably never see those people again. I would never meet them for coffee and laugh over the fading memory of a perfect night, or walk by as strangers and smile politely; I would never even be given the chance to be reminded. 

Inevitably, I would forget. 

Forget how it felt to share painful details of my life because my company didn't know anything about me. Forget how it felt to answer a million questions about my country, feeling my heart soar with pride. Forget how it felt to shiver by the windowsill as the sun rose over baroque architecture. Forget how it felt to wake up in Vienna, to an apartment littered with evidence of well-spent youth. 

Tu me manques

I walked the streets at twilight, a small map in my hands, glancing at the signs but so sure I was lost. I was convinced that the city was most beautiful at this time- a soft blue glow that melted into purple washed the walls and people with a fairtytale romance. Couples were kissing on the park benches, birds were flocking to the fountains, women were walking their playful dogs. Everyone had somewhere to be but me. I walked onwards, hands in my pocket, wondering why I was alone in such a beautiful city.

This was the time I thought most of Zach- What he was doing, what he was thinking of. My being was physically aching to have him with me. I missed him terribly. I dreamt of the day we'd reunite, with the world in black and white, the romantic stone streets skinny and empty, I'd be choking back tears, inhaling every scent and sight of him to fill the spaces behind my eyes. I counted down the days until we could hold hands and stare at each other and do anything that annoying lovesick couples do. I wanted the slap of his feet against the stone to echo mine, and his laugh to be the only language I could understand among the buzz of strangers. I thought it was beautiful that the city reminded me of the person I love, that I could feel my longing strongest when I admired its architecture, street musicians, and bright red strawberries being sold on the sidewalks.