All the things I took for granted
It’s every half-formed and quickly swallowed declaration of love.
It’s when Patti Smith made grown men cry in Barcelona.
It’s every dark, deserted cinema screen.
It’s every last cigarette. And the one after that.
It’s every chill-dawn drug hangover.
Every wine-stained map.
Every jazz night standing too close to the speaker.
It’s every €17 beer in Norway not regretted.
It’s drinking absinthe with strangers in New Orleans.
It’s every night spent sleeping outside.
Every 5am airport coffee.
Every word wrought from nothingness and put down again.
It’s waiting for hours outside Galleria dell’Accademia to see Michelangelo’s David.
It’s herbes de Provence.
It’s un caffè per favore at the counter like a local.
It’s the huff of the lions warming themselves by the campfire.
It’s the stars in Africa.
It’s every ticket turnstile ever careened through that has led you here.
To this moment. To exactly where you need to be. How amazing is that.
It’s all the things I took for granted and will do again someday.
But to be honest I’ll probably just want some peace and quiet.