Remember when?

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Remember that time we backpacked through Europe for three months?

Remember the countless gelato stops, eating baguettes and cheese under the Eiffel Tower, and sipping delectable Turkish coffee?

Remember when I cried at the Anne Frank house, which came at no surprise since I cry at the smallest fleck of emotion?

Remember spending hours and hours strolling through the halls of the Musee d’Orsay or the Uffizi or the countless other art museums we visited that summer? That was the summer my fledgling love for art history took flight.

Remember the Haunted Hand hotel in Wales and how every creaking floorboard and moaning pipe creeped us out even more?

Remember when you peed in the snow in Switzerland? I couldn’t believe you just dropped your pants on the side of the road.

Remember meditating in Delphi and standing in awe at Ephesus? That was our first spiritual exploration together.

Remember swimming in the clearest aquamarine waters of the Mediterranean and how damn hot that black rock beach was, how much the ground scorched our soles?

Remember Rome by moonlight our first night there? It was incredibly romantic and oddly cheesy at the same time.

Remember the day trip to Pisa where we tried and failed to capture cool photos? I still can’t believe how crooked that tower truly is.

Remember trying escargot and then running through the streets of Paris so we wouldn’t miss our night cruise along the Seine? That waiter still makes me angry.

Remember when I drug you to every damn cathedral mentioned in Les Miserables? I’m sure you hated it by the end.

Remember biking drunk on sangrias through Barcelona after power hour? And how we narrowly escaped a drunken piercing or tattoo.

Remember the pub crawl in Dublin where we somehow made it back to the hotel in one piece?

Remember, remember, remember?

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