The feeling of being invincible; a thing I love and know all too well; taught by the journeys I have made.

My heart slows, feeling a focus of facing the open road. Best days of our lives; roaming, stumbling in a wanderer's glory. This continent is our playground, a path of endless possibilities and infinite outcomes. Our chests hurting, aching sore from so much intense laughter; too much than any one person should be allowed. We can do whatever we want. On the road, we are free of worry.

Spring thunderstorms and cobbled streets, aged bridges and majestic cathedrals. Italian kebabs, cheap cocktails, and the passion of a fiery sunset; shared with beautiful company. Goodbye until God knows when we'll meet again, but we will.

Night trains and tirades, rocked to sleep on a metallic track that will take me any place I may dare. From the comfort of sleep to a cup of the conductor's strong brew, the view out my window and onto those green and white alps, and for a second I can't breathe; I know and believe and trust forever in this moment, that life is beautiful.

Reunited with old, great friends, swapping stories and sharing hash spliffs over stunning vistas and delicious beers, I can leave all my worries behind on a Swiss mountainside. I found refuge of place and time, I found heaven.

Picnics and fishing, hiking and exploring, mountains that touch the sky, floating down an icy river. Sticking our thumbs out, hitting the road, and reaching for a place we've never been nor found...yet. Foreign tongues and beautiful faces, waiting for that train, rolling up tobacco J's. One last Swiss kebab before the German border, hand me a beer, man.

Memories

Italian kebabs, night trains, rolling tobacco, hash spliffs, foreign tongues, beautiful faces, lust and prostitutes, beer. Absinthe, castles, beer, mountains that touch the sky, new friends from old countries, long train rides, and Swiss kebabs. Classic quotes, a collective journal, floating down a river, stocked up with beer but no bottle opener. Stopping at riverside bars buying pints of the best beer Czech has to offer for only 1 euro. Old friends from new countries, hiking and exploring, photographs and fishing, buying meals in markets and grocery stores. Buying beer to wash down those German kebabs. A hot tub of solitude with friends under one million and a half stars. Hitchhiking, beer halls, intoxication from laughter, there is no place I'd rather be than right here right now. Endless marijuana in a tolerant Dutch culture, Dutch kebabs, and the munchies. Beer, bonfire and bowls of green on a beautiful beach. Sleeping in the dunes and eating magic mushrooms. Long daylight of a Danish sky, and a long white dress of a Danish princess.

Solitude, I find, as I find my way home, but not to California, to my Italian home. Body broken, alone, and demoralized. Digestive system disturbed from lack of nutrients, beer replacing food the last two days. Barely able to stand, all my belongings on my back, burdened even more by a one liter beer mug. Walking 2 miles through Pisa, too poor for the bus, I feel the Tuscan sun upon my face and in my bones. I stick my thumb out yet one more time, yet I know already no Italian has room in their tiny cars. I don't know if I've ever felt more rundown. I am a mess with a 5-month hangover, and smell like a homeless person . My toiletry bag is gone. I feel dizzy and sick, yet still invincible. I have made it home. No place I'd rather be than on these streets. I made it. The lumpy couch in my cousins apartment with all those pesky mosquitos could not have been more comfortable. Pisa is my heaven. Take a swing of the red wine elixir, I found my muse again. My music was lost but now is found. Long days that pass by quickly, I recover as I eat brie and bread, sipping beer shirtless on the grass next to the tower, breathing Mediteranean breezes in deep, sparking up a Lucky Strike. No place I'd rather be, right here, right now, blessed memories.

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