Post-Europe Depression is real.
I long for the canals of Amsterdam.
Walking the narrow streets as the bikes pass by, breathing in the crisp air as the wind graces my face. Hands in my pockets, street lights across buildings, bells tolling the hour.
I long for the streets of Paris.
Popping into museums to visit old friends on the walls, vendors enticing their goods out of green boxes, the Seine guiding me along my way, laying in a field in front of the Eiffel Tower.
I long for the rain of London.
Hopping on subways full of other travelers, tile lined station walls and stairs leading up to different pockets of life. Cafes and the arts welcoming you anywhere your head turns.
The last time I was in rain, it was in Europe. It covered me, soaking into my pours, holding me like a loved one.
It rained today.
Touching my skin, taking the place where the breeze used to blow and the drops were before.
Western rain doesn't feel the same.
