I just woke from a dream.
I was on the TGV (train) in southern France after spending some time in Monte Carlo. I was gazing out of the window over fields of lavender and basking in beautiful sunshine as the countryside flew past me at high speed. Silent and peaceful. I sipping café au lait and eating a croissant, whilst reminiscing about the beauty of where I had been.
Currently a Facebook friend and work colleague is over in Italy and has been visiting all of the places I have been. Firenze, Pisa, Roma, Venezia, Milano. She’s posting photos of San Marco Basilica. The Leaning Tower of Pisa. David. The Duomo in Florence. The Colosseum. And I find myself horribly jealous.
I click through my own European photos on Facebook and sigh as I remember the delicious food, the vast natural beauty of the alps, the friendly people. I can’t believe it’s two and a half years ago since I was there myself. Standing under the Eiffel Tower watching the light show, placing a bet at the Monte Carlo casino, standing on the beach at Nice looking out to Corsica.
Life was simplistic and wonderful.
It’s so hard to not come back to trauma. Back then I hadn’t experienced it. I was carefree. I didn’t have this Beast lurking behind me, waiting to take hold.
My psych says I should talk about if to my friends. However I really don’t want to. I don’t want to physically verbalise it all. I’m much preferring to blog about it here. I think when my friends talk about it, they want to ask about ‘the day’, they want the gory details. Whereas I want to talk about the aftermath, which essentially is not as interesting as the actual event.
I would like to return to Europe one day, I’m sure I will. We saw so much, but also missed a lot as we simply didn’t have the time to do it all.
For now I’ll just keep dreaming about Europe.