There is a taste of a moment sometimes that is so sweet, you wish the rotating axis of time would just ease to a slow, grinding halt. Long enough to savor, long enough to cast into the vaults of memory to be revisited long after the perfume of it has wafted away into the night. Because after the moment, what do we have left? In the wake of a sensory feast, nothing but echoes and faint recollections.
Italy / France / Germany / Croatia