In those dreams, I always imagined myself on a balcony. Second floor. White curtains blowing in the breeze. Opening onto one of those tiny, cobblestone walks. We have that in our room here, but it is better than the dream. The tiles- the cool way they feel under my bare feet and the contrasting patterns. The bare walls. The tiny balcony that actually turns our who room into a balcony. It is absolutely perfect.
The language is different than Southwest Spanish. I knew it was different, logically, but hearing it is spoken is still shocking, and beautiful. It sounds round and open, the mouth so soft as people speak. Speaking of mouths… the smiles. Everywhere, there seems to be the hint of a smile just waiting to be shared. When they are shared, they are given so liberally that I cannot help but return them. The smiling makes me slightly giddy. Drunk, and I have yet to take a sip.
Six days can’t possibly be enough. Or it might be. I remember the way I fell in love with Istanbul, and the way that moving there ruined the allure of that magical place. I am sure that moving here would also taint my starry-eyed notions of perfection. However, I definitely will keep Seville in my back pocket as one of the perfect vacation cities for me. Sometimes, you step off of a plane and you feel like you are home. You feel right. Dead strings resonate in your heart. Those are places worth exploring.
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