Barcelona

Barcelona, where rooftops flirt with the sky. 

I stood in the hush of late afternoon beneath a small pavilion that dressed the air in old stories. The stone glowed like bread pulled from an oven, warm and certain, and the finial pointed up like a promise. 

In that quiet, I felt the city exhale. The years did not disappear. They learned how to sing. There is a sweetness in restraint here. 

I felt lighter with each breath, as if the sky had set a table and saved me a chair. Nostalgia did not ache. It warmed the bones and asked me to stay a moment longer. 

A fragment of the past resting in a clear bubble of now, calm and kind. 

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