the freedom of travel

The most miserable part of traveling is the moment you realize that it´s actually over. It´s this heavy realization that you still have known all the time, but kind of ignored to live in the moment of what is about come. It´s the scene in a melancholic movie where it rains, the sky is black and the girl is obviously crying still looking unrealistically hot sobbing without a grin. I´m there now. Ryan air airport, a bench, a coffee, too good memories and bon iver in my ears. no tears though ( promise) maybe a grin because of too many sleepless nights. It´s super sad, but still already justifying thoughts of when and where to go next. It´s the freedom you love until it´s over and the euphoria turns to misery; until it´s too much and you refuse to accept it. Refuse to be bitter and appreciate the next step by the thoughts of what you had. It´s love and hate at the same time. it´s magic.

I love france. France loves me. I will be back. Written on a pack of cigarettes. true and naked friendship. 

Ma chérie adorée

Quand la vie fermé une porte

Elle ouvre un fenetre