July in Europe

July was wrapped in warmth. July was long days traveling through southern Europe with my sister. July was a celebration, a long awaited feast. July was the sun setting over the ocean, it was the pleasure of doing absolutely nothing. July was asking all our waiters for extra ice and fanning ourselves through the streets of Rome. It was raspberry gelato, and everything soaked in lemon. July held the last of summer in its arms and spread kisses across the long stretched shoreline. It was the midday sparkle in the water, and fruit stands on the side of the road. Beach umbrellas. Books on the beach. Daily, hourly, dips in the sea. Salads and french fries in the South of France. Pasta in Italy, it doesn’t matter where. Seafood from a tiny French island. Leftovers for breakfast.

July held sweet memories of sunshine. She spoke of longer days, and whispers of the end and beginning of things. July was children splashing and playing in the sand, It was yesterday, and today, and tomorrow all tangled in one. It was the smell of salty air and staying up way after dark. Stories told. Dancing at midnight. Smiling at strangers. Standing still. Grateful to be traveling so young.

July — the youthfulness of it all. Laughing until our stomachs hurt. Squeezing out every last drop of those endless warm summer days. This is what love must look like. Forever dreaming of that faraway place.