When I think of romance I picture old vermillion and brown cobble stone roads leading up to an old Parisian house or old Spaniard style house; where the front doors are colored a soft mauve or a deep Crimson. Where the brick laying is still somewhat rough but enhances the doors’ appearance. Either way the architecture is still somewhat similar in a sense. Very dramatic. Very poised and pronounced. Beautiful yet elegant, exposing one to the feeling of love and passion. I see balconies with lovely white French doors and brass handles opening inward with beige sheer curtains blowing in the cool spring breeze. Plant beds lining the balconies railings, small chair and table perfect for a morning coffee. Fresh smell of jasmine, lilies and gardenias floating in and out of the house. It’s warm in every corner of the house and there’s laughter and sunshine. The aroma of garlic and onions in the kitchen and mellow sounds of the Spanish guitar playing. A small window overlooking a petite backyard where a young garden has begun to bloom. Rich soil nourishing the harvest inviting the scents of herbs through the window. There’s bright yellow sheets spread over the bed, plush pillows that beckon for ones dreams. Cotton towels still hot from the dryer taking deep inhales of the spring mountain fresh detergent still lingering in the fibers. It’s love. Its warmth that keeps one in bed all day on Sunday. It’s sunshine during rainy days, taking walks in silence and just being present. It’s slow dancing to a favorite song, smiling and reminiscing on days when the world was so much smaller. So much lighter.
Written February 8,2016