We Are what We Love

The great Romanian poet Nichita Stanescu said this and I certainly agree.

We are indeed what we love.

In this case, I am FREEDOM. I am air. And endless fields of blooming daisies. I am SPRING and cherry blossom trees. I am the flight of birds. I am their singing.

I am the sound of my steps on a cobblestone street in le Marais.  I am the crunchiness of a fresh backed baguette and the intense taste of a perfect velvety fondant au chocolat.

I am raindrops on brick-colored chimneys and midnight walks in Paris when it rains. I am nights out partying and dancing on couches in Interbelic. I am Margaritas and Dirty Martinis and all the happy giggles in the cab driving us home after an epic night out.

Santorini

Image via Blue Pueblo

 

I am all the birthdays and celebrations of the people I love and all the Sundays when we gather around the table: family and friends. Food and good wine.

I am barefoot dancing until dawn in Greek tavernas.

I am a mandolin. And a lonely piano.

I am Bach’s Cello Suites and Arthur Rimbaud’s poetry. I am Molière’s bourgeois gentilhomme and Manet’s Olympia.

I am tearful, joyous bear hugs at the arrival gate in every airport and train station. I am my lost and found luggage full of memories and souvenirs.

 

I am my daughter’s five-toothed smile and my husband’s soft whispers. I am the paradise in my child’s eyes. I am my father’s kiss on my forehead and my mother’s soothing words when I’m sick or blue.

I am all that I ever loved. I am all that I experienced. I am all my tears and laughter. I am all my heartbeats.

I am what I love. And I love what I am.

What about you, dear friends? What are you?

xx,

Clover

* Featured image via Blue Pueblo

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