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. 

Look Both Ways

Everything I've ever written about longing to escape and explore has come crashing down on me in the form of an airplane ticket three months apart from its return. In a different bed, in a different city, in a different country, in a different part of the world. The voices speaking different tongues, and me understanding nothing. Finally away from everything I've ever known, but instead of feeling found, I felt more alone than ever.

Homesickness came in waves in the morning, when I awoke to the sound of a bell tower reminding me that I was not home. Homesickness came in waves in the day, when I looked around and had no idea where to go. Homesickness came in waves at night, as I clung to the blanket wishing for someone who felt like a shelter in the abyss of unfamiliarity.

I would cry my eyes out, questioning if I had made the right choice. Why was I so desperate to get away? And what was it I was running from? I seeked support from friends from around the world who were as scattered and alone as I was, and they held my hand through words and told me that the four walls were my enemy. The secret to enjoying the drastic change is to go out and embrace it. Explore the city, taste the food, meet the people, and find that although they are different, they are just as amazed by you as you are by them.

Like a newborn baby, I collapsed into a fourteen-hour sleep and decided that the next day I would wake up different. No more crying, no more fear of this strange land of cobblestone streets, bell towers, and beer. This will be home for the next thirty days, and I will speak their tongue and love their people, and by the end of it, I will be found.

Wide Eyes

A kiss. A nibble on the earlobe.

Two worlds colliding.

A tidal wave of goosebumps

the crashing of plates with 

every shiver.

That laugh, the wrinkle of your nose.

A thousand years of rivers folding

over their beds,

like us, after drinking.

The squint of your eyes,

my heart beating.

The stretch of your grin,

Roman ruins collapsing.

The sound of your steps-

my lifeline.

Pyro

The days we stayed up until 2AM in my car, listening to Kings of Leon. Your eyes closed, fists clenched, chest rising and falling with every twist in Caleb's voice. I want that. I want to watch you sing Pyro at the top of your lungs again. Your forehead wrinkling as your eyes squeeze shut and your eyebrows rising with that pain in your voice. That pain must come from a place that only a broken heart and a broken home could ever know.

I want to hold your hand tell you it'll be okay, give into reckless abandon and stupid feelings and say I'm going to be here forever, no matter what our odds are. I want to kiss you in the dim blue light of the radio and lose my fingers in your hair, kiss you until I'm out of breath and out of my mind.

That smell of your perfume, that burn of my stubble against your skin. I want to get as close as possible, bone to bone, breath to breath, and feel the soft moan of your strength caving in. I want that sad background music and our eyes recognizing each other's pain, that silent understanding we'll always have, and that comfort knowing that I have your lost soul to accompany my own.

I want that undeniable heat building between us until you pull me out of the car and into the elevator, down the hall and into your bed. I want to dance clumsily around our bodies, feel the indents of your waist fill the corners of my arms, watch your clothes fall to the floor and your eyes glimmer in the dark.

I want to believe that we belong together, give into love and not think about the future, or the past, or anything except you and me in this crazy world and how we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle we'll never understand. I don't want to question time and place anymore. None of that. I just want to feel alive with you, talk about dreams, sing sad songs, and hug you until your bones tremble in my grasp.