Vama Veche is not the kind of place to write about anymore, ‘cause everyone did, to the point where they made blue heaven a worn-out cliche… But it’s still that place my mind goes back when it wants to see the inner wings free, it’s still that place so beautiful it hurts… It’s still that place where, in an almost-summer, I thought I had found my sweet love again. There was a guy looking like him from far away, long black hair and leather coat, leather boots, deep eyes shining from the distance and beautiful lips, all fading in the distance of my memories… I truly thought it was him and went up to him, said “hello” and then realized he was not my Alec, not by far… it was just the air there, the comfort of the sea-blessed air, that made the mirage almost real. And I kissed him a lot that afternoon, wishing the dream could feel more touchable. And it did, years later, when my love came back into my life so unexpectedly… our first holiday together was spent in Vama Veche, during the most beautiful winter of all. And every time we miss our dreams, every time we miss each other as we were in the pure innocence of looking-for-each-other, we go back in time to that blue-blessed-perfect place that’s waiting for us by the sea. I’m missing Vama Veche unbearably much these days… take me back to the place I’d rather be… let’s run away into a golden sweep of songs and memories, my love… and create new ones as we go.
