May 12th, 2013
Sharing a cliff's edge
I remember the cobble roads, the fragrance of wild rosemary in the mountains,
the old, wrinkled olive trees, the climb to the top of a pile of
boulders where we stared admirlingly at the
Sierra Nevada. I remember clinging to rocks for dear
life the day before my 24th birthday, as we descended along an unknown, treacherous path. I wanted to know we wouldn't die there, that a bright future lay ahead for us off of that mountain.
I remember the old moorish castles covering the hillside above Granada, the pink and purple fusia decorating the
dusty city, the dry, warm air of Andalucia.
I remember sharing surtidos de tapas, and looking for a patch of grass along the river Guadalquivir to stretch
our bodies on, and not finding it. I remember a wonderful mezze, shots of anis and shisha in a bar we had all to ourselves.
I remember walking hand in hand, squeezing, kissing slowly, loving each other, the best we could.
