They say that a life barren of that which makes us full and whole,
(of experience of course I speak), is one not worth living.
And far more, one absent of love, my dear friend,
I bequeath you take heed in continuing such a journey,
for far more fortunate would you be to throw yourself
from the top most tower of the mountain far greatest,
than to take on this quest of a life
fettered by the absence of love.
But fear not my dear friend,
for thine life doth not face such peril.
For I have navigated the labyrinths of the Venetian canals,
and I have stirred in the depths of the Aegean Sea.
I have conquered the cliffs of Cinque Terra
and I have kissed the clouds atop the Eiffel tower,
seeing Paris through the eyes of a passing bird.
I have dwindled in the dungeons beneath London
where the condemned's cries for life still echoed off the walls.
I have stared through the glassy depths of the French Riviera
and I have found serenity in the rolling hills of the Irish countryside.
I've marveled under the eloquence of the Sistine Chapel,
and felt utter belittlement in the middle of the Colosseum,
imagining the blood that had once been shed beneath my feet
and the roars of the crowd that had once endeared it.
But it is in Verona,
where fabled love still stirs in the air,
that I grazed the lips of the most beautiful girl in the world.
And this my friend, this is where I found love,
for alas,
this is where I found you.
