I have a sunburn!

I'm missing it again. It was sitting in the sun that did me in. Mercilessly exposing my winter-white arms and legs to the glaring sun. Letting the heat dry my hair instead of doing it myself. Falling asleep after the sun worked out every bit of stress. It's the first time this year that I've done that, and it just all comes back.

My last night in Madrid, at three in the morning I was sitting on my tiny balcony in my pajamas, watching the city glow. The balcony was so small even when I leaned back on the wall behind me, my legs were dangling six stories over the street. Mopeds and tiny cars zoomed quietly down the street, one at a time. The magnificent train station accross the way was quiet. I could hear the fountain in the turn-around splash, and some people were already opening their stores. I listened to their foriegn, groggy converation, and the swish of their brooms on the sidewalk, and I watched as the deliveries began to arrive. The lighting was golden, and the streets shone like water, and the buildings gave off their own light. The moon was the same kind of glowing gold, and I watched it arc all the way through the sky. I sat and soaked up all of the heat that I could, all of the humidity, and laughed at how two weeks ago I couldn't stand that feeling. I was so tan that I could go fourteen hours of tropical sunlight without any sunscreen. I was strong from countless miles and climbing stairs all of the time. I had nothing but unbelievable European food in me. I was older, I was stronger, I was happier.

I woke up the next morning, after 2 and 1/2 hours of sleep, and I felt terrible. It was a two hour flight from Madrid back to Paris, and I think I cried the entire way. Not all-out sobbing, but my throat was tight and my eyes kept burning. And it was ok. The most important thing I learned in those incredible two weeks was this. Sometimes, loving some place, or something, or someone means being sad. No one talks about this because no one wants to hear it, and as a result some people never know. I didn't know it until I was on a plane, and I was ending the best experiance of my so-far life. I loved it, and I was sad to leave it, and it was ok. Sometimes that's the only way you can love, is by hurting.

Here's the funny thing. I love that place as much as I always have. And sometimes it still hurts. But the sadness goes away. Even after most of the pain has gone, and all that's left is this twinge of longing, the love is still there. The bad things will end someday, and no one will remember them. But the good things last forever.