The bookshelves that stand across from me, hold oodles of trinkets my roommates and I hold dear. There are plenty of pretty things to look at in the morning while I sit on the carpet straightening out my thoughts for the day. But there's one special treasure up there that knocks me all over the place. Detouring from any possibility that our globe might remind us of Academia, I think it's safe to say only memories and wishes are traveling through our thoughts when we take it for a spin.
Until I can take my mind off wandering around the world (which I never will), Tuesday's will be dedicated to past and future travels.
|O Porto, Potugal|
|"laughter has no foreign accent"|
No need to go into detail of what I found beautiful in Portugal (Isn't it obvious?) For some reason, stepping into this postcard brought out some colors my friends and I never knew we had. Little creatures were set free. We were bare (some foot- some skin). We jumped on rocks and slid down sand.. the beach was our playground. We spoke to boys who made us blush despite the language barrier. We tribal danced with borrowed soccer balls and bamboo sticks. We found the real slim shady. We sang 'till one of us almost burst. We turned merely a few moments into these odd little stories you'll never understand unless you visit Portugal for yourself.