We arrived Barcelona in the early afternoon. Despite this, I was blurry eyed and sleep deprived.

This is also despite me sleeping through the majority of the 6+ TGV ride from Paris. Though I did wake up a couple times as we crossed through Les Pyrnees.

I hadn’t been to Barcelona in 10 years, so I was hoping it would relive up to my wonderful studying abroad memories. It did. Turns out my earlier Self was a pretty darn good judge of what my future Self would still be drawn to and like.

I would have given anything to crash and take a nap, but the option was to hit the ground running, which really is always a better idea. Sleep deprivation and jet lag need constant movement to combat them.

As I strolled through the old area of the city, where Roman Ruins can still be seen, I stumbled upon an ancient church — just as a newly married couple was exiting.

I found myself immediately pulled in. Like a magnet. Standing there, amongst friends and family. Watching as rose petals, confetti and words of Love were poured over them.

It was one of those quick moments — no more than a few minutes — that felt like hours. I wanted to bottle up all the sentiments. All that joy. Keep it in a jar … be able to reach in and get some out when I need it.

But I suppose that’s what we do with the preservation of memories … and maybe that’s the main purpose they serve … in reminding us that we are loved and in the not so pleasant memories — of how far we’ve come.