I'm back in the city of my wide-eyed youth. On this very path I walked home after my first day at university, thinking I had taken on something impossible. I hid nervously behind my only two friends in the world as a handsome man, an older student, stopped us with a bright smile and suggested we join him and his friends for a beer. We nearly fainted. Many years later, we still laugh at how we stuttered an excuse and ran off like the scared little girls we were.
Right there and then, the whole wide world threw open its portals and let us glimpse a future filled with unknown phenomena and exciting people. Glamour and adventure beckoned alluringly as the cathedral bell tolled the hour above our heads.
So I set off, running across the cobble-stoned streets with never-ending energy, entertaining dreams of interrail in Europe and beautiful men. I was surrounded by people who knew impossible stuff and appreciated ancient books as much as I did. People who were nothing at all like me. And people who were as hellbent on having adventures as I was, but without my fear. Sometimes I was desperate and lost. Then I sneaked into the ancient cathedral to stand beneath vaults as high as the sky and wander around decaying tombstones, to be comforted by the air of centuries past and the quiet of many prayers.
That world pulled me in, molded and strengthened me, then shot me off into the universe.
As I walk the same streets now, I'm there and here simultaneously. That long-lost excitement and hope whisper to me again and yet I've seen so much, good and bad.
Be inspired by the nostalgia or choke on it? I can't decide.
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