I remember falling asleep to the quiet hum of that old city. Sleeping on clean floral sheets and the balcony doors wide open. In a language I hardly knew, voices and laughter carried in the streets below. I'd wake up each morning to the songs of birds and the sunlight peaking through the white sheer curtains.

            Below the apartment I stayed in was a cobbled maze, streets lined in little shops, restaurants, and homes and at the center of the district was the mosque with its cascading tower reaching up towards the sky. At every corner I could see history unfold, believing in magic for the first time. Every time I met someone new, which was almost as often as I blinked, I would be greeted warmly with a kiss on each cheek. Every single experience was cloaked in sincerity, every laugh, every conversation, every gift...

            I took walks through tangled, intricate gardens. Designed with perfect intention. Set foot in buildings whose architecture moved my soul to emotions of gratitude I'd never quite felt before. The world fell still while I stood on top of castles and temples, watching the city and landscape dissolve into the horizon. And during this time I discovered undoubtedly, whether I was mid-exploring an old church, caught in a breathtaking view, or doing something as simple as sitting on that balcony, that I would never stop dreaming of this feeling again

            That wanderlust had caught me, heart and soul, and I was destined to find it again.

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