Granada is magic. Small streets, hot stones under my feet and all around I hear voices talking to me.
“Lay down for a while…”
“Listen to me…”
The warmth of 40 degrees celcius embracing me, the sun lying on my shoulders, burning me softly, slowly. Preparing me. Eating me alive. To become part of it. How could I resist? How would I want to resist? You can be part of New York. That is wonderful. You cannot be a part of Granada. You only can be Granada.
“You are a painter? I am your color!”
“You are writer? I am your story!”
“You are a dancer? I am the music!”
I fell in love with Granada. I want to be there for a summer, for a winter, for a time. To hear it talking to me. Again and again. I want to be Granada!