After hours of walking around historic Roman ruins, she stood looking behind me at the ground we had just covered. The background was perfect and reminiscent of a picture I had taken of me the year before. At this point we had been away from home for three weeks, but our thoughts were not looking forward to that. Instead, we were looking to extract every minute detail out of every moment, to remember what it felt like to be somewhere where people had lived and died and lived and lied for 2,700 years.
We held onto one another as we made our way to the Metro. We sat close as we boarded and flipped through the day’s photos and lived it all over again. Our walk from the station near our hostel was quick and unimpeded and we were greeted by faces both familiar and new. Settling into a table of people we knew, we drank beers, smoked cigarettes and laughed heartily deep into the night. We didn’t want to go home.