Barcelona, Spain

In Barcelona, you stand under a sky the colour of pewter, eyes pulled upward toward a facade that looks carved from a dream.

You feel the old craftsmen in your bones, their chisel rhythm echoing like distant kitchen knives on a long afternoon.

You remember wonder is a daily ration if you let it be. The facade becomes a compass. Honor to steady your steps. Poder to claim your day.

You walk on, full of quiet electricity, certain the story has already started and you are inside it.