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Through those narrow cobbled streets lined richly with sight and sound, I like to imagine that I trace your steps, following a familiar path. Across the river and through the square, winding pavement climbing higher and then sharply down between the brickwork and beams.

I pass that one doorway with a smile and a glance, but I do not enter. Not yet. My destination is just a little further. Enclosed by walls, the tower to my left, the courtyard rich with the fragrance of hot wine. For a fleeting moment, I fancy that I feel your presence; some sensory memory, the scent of you drifting on the chill spring air.

Although we’ve never been here together, it is ours somehow.

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