A journal of love

One day I left my journal in Paris, France.
I was around 23 years old.
I left it at a Buero De Change just around the corner from Notre Dame.
I went to the bus, where our tour guide awaited our return.
I realized.
I ran back to the Buero.
It was not there.
Several months later, it arrived at my doorstep.
It is amazing how love comes back to love.
I almost cried I was so happy.
So how did it make it back to me?
Just ten minutes before I lost it, I had written my address in it.
Ten minutes.
And do you think that those ten minutes were a mistake?
The woman that posted my book to me now lives in Rome, Italy.
We even talk on the internet.
Having just written her, I have been thinking about Rome.
Trevi fountain.
The Spanish steps.
The walks along the river.
The hills.
The police screaming recklessly through the streets.
It is an amazing place.