A love letter to Europe. My beating heart, my searching eyes, my old soul belongs there and only there. The old world – its age, its overabundance in beauty, its weathered and worn facades, its opulent details – is my love language. From my very first encounter on European soil, I’ve been smitten. My heart longs for Europe when I am far away. My soul spins into a frenzy of nostalgia when I go through my collections of photos and trinkets. Europe, I love you.
I find myself dwindling in soft memories of sifting through old postcards with hand scrawled words of intense love and vintage library books filled with pages worn from age and use. I wonder what homes they were once found in, the families they were passed down, the history they lived through, the hands they were touched with.
I relish in nostalgic scenes of traipsing through quiet alleys, sun drenched during golden hour. I imagine the feet that must’ve walked down the same paths as me. What did these ancient people feel when they stumbled on such beauty?
I get dizzy with flooding smells of quaint cafes. I crave the crusty crumbs of a croissant and espresso in the middle of a long, cool fall afternoon. I flash back to images of elderly couples languidly sitting in the thatched seats facing green, green courtyards and splattering fountains. Joining them in their luxurious and simple moments of reflection, of quiet. Dreaming of grabbing a pen and paper and just write the words that flow so effortlessly when I am in this setting.
I could write poetry on the rustling of tree branches, older than I can even fathom – creating a canopy of age and sanctuary for a girl as small and young as I am. Here I stand, grateful to breathe in air this fresh, this clear. As I pass through the rustling leaves on my pathway, I am plagued with so many fleeting feelings of romance and warmth and grandeur. I’m in the old world. I’m here for a blip in a moment in time to soak in all its beauty, all its details.
My whirlwind romance with Europe has no boundaries. It hits me in moments I least expect. It fills me with memories to recall on grey, dreary days in the midst of mundane tasks and to-do lists. It sits on the forefront of my mind during all sorts of settings. It’s here to stay. And I am thankful for it. It’s as if my soul found a place it feels most home. It’s as if my heart found a setting it wants to lose itself in over and over again. And I am most looking forward for my own two feet to find themselves on Europe’s shores again.
For my fellow Dame Traveler who could write their own love letter to Europe, we share our own love stories solely focused on European destinations here at A Love Letter To Europe on Instagram. Fill your feed with the old world’s goodness.