You started it all in Amsterdam. I wish you didn't have to pass me by on your lovely bike, ornamented with carnations on both ends. I wish you didn't have to stop to ask me whether I needed to ask someone for the train to go to Rijk's Museum. I can read maps, you know? Clearly you underestimated me. But I can't believe I gave up to the temptation of stealing someone's bike from one of the corner of the streets, and followed you down there. But oh boy, was the cheap ice cream the only thing I got. Rijk's was closed; you said Van Gogh wasn't ready to see me. I can't believe I laughed. But you deserved it anyway.
I hated Paris. The Eiffel tower is merely a landmark for me; everything is always related to Napoleon, and he was not even a nice guy, why are they so proud of the man who was not genetically French at all? But there, right on the deck of one of those Seine boats, you told me your own version of Notre Dame, and your own version of how Sacre Coeur was built, and the real story about how you broke up with your high school sweetheart in Pont Neuf during the sunset. We agreed that people were wrong about Paris, it's only great for its pretentiousness. But we agreed that people were right about something: Paris does things to people. Things that are so magical, you didn't even know they exist.
"Why are we in Bruges?" I asked.
"So that you remember, fairy tales came from the minds of people who live in the real life. This is the closest that we can be to fairy tales, and I want you to still believe in them. One day, you will be old enough to start reading it again. Yeah, that was C.S. Lewis, though." and you laughed.
I couldn't believe we have the same favorite spot in Lucerne, or Luzern, as the natives call it. I was never fluent in Latin, and you translated the words carved on the monument, the story behind it, and what Mark Twain had to say about the lion. I wish you didn't have to explain them to me. I wish you didn't have to stare at the lion the way I stared at it; at least you could've done it some other time, some place other than next to me. As we walked back to a less sheltered place than the monument, you told me one thing I will always carry in my boots, "Don't confuse love with madness."
I don't know how we decided to go to the Spanish Steps on a Saturday evening. It was full of people; people who awaits for their friends, people who were hipster enough to hang out there, people who's on a Roman Holiday, people who's taking pictures, people who's made good use of their credit cards in Gucci... People. You told me to go buy a Prada handkerchief for my mom. You told me to walk a few meters away and throw some coins into the Trevi Fountain. You told me that all good things, like the Roman Empire, no matter how powerful it was, comes to an end. You told me that if you try to flash back some memories, it's like reading a Russian novel, where every second, every small details, counts. In other words, you told me that we had a great time, so this is good bye.
