Another night, another French village, another party with complete strangers who took us in and let us smoke in their living room. We crashed early, and I dreamed of babies and a place where I wasn't always tripping over somebody else's language. The weather plunged and we spent the day shivering through a medieval village outside Bordeaux, drinking bubbly and traversing cloisters. When they say the Old Town here, they really mean it. I found cherries in bloom, and the simple pleasure of seeing them surprised my heart. We sank ourselves into the mud of the vines as he gently touched the little shoots and explained their futures. The whole world was that new green for which my heart longs every cold, dead winter.
We walked past a lilac in full bloom, uninhibitedly throwing itself out of an ancient wall. The smell hit me in the chest and told me of childhood summers where the grass was always soft, the world was always free. The cold didn't bother me so much then. Adventure will keep us warm.
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