This place, Prague, is more mesmerizing and mysterious and familiar than I ever could have imagined. The buildings sigh and tantalize, the history and potential simultaneously evoke a yearning I haven't met in over a decade. Easily I am/was here in 1898, frolicking in cafes, art nouveau (mais a cette ciecle ce n'est pas "nouveau") perfuming from my pores.
I wouldn't want to live here, as in "make a living," but I would subsist here indefinitely on Moravian wine and long walks to find pockets of Narnia.
Leave me here, it's easy to lose myself. And I haven't even been to a castle yet.