It's risky illusion to fall in love, or to fall at all, for anyone while abroad. Europe is a haven for whores and hopeful romantics, waiting and willing to oblige. No matter the motivation
; romantic connection abroad is either a tragedy or a miracle.
Tragic if you really enjoy someone's company and know you'll never see them again. Tragic if you play STD roulette. A miracle if you make it work. Miraculous if out of the countries and people of the world you just so happen to fall in love.
Romanticism is all about tragedy and miracles, as each inspire the same effect. Inspiration, whether melancholy or melodious, is still inspiration. Each has a beauty.
No one thinks of the best when they see a Croat and Mexicana lock eyes. Perhaps the students of Strasbourg 2011 programme have had their shares of tragedies. Perhaps humanity in general expects tragedy. I'm no different except for the part of me that believes in miracles.
"Hey guys....I mean...it's kinda cute....it coulddddd work?" I say with hopeful cringe.
"No way Shameless Vagabond," retorts someone.
Prepare for the worst? Hope for the best? I suppose that's a good philosophy? Either way, they're so many questions. Ultimately, it doesn't matter if I or the others believe in miracles, as long as the Croat and Mexicana do. After all, the result will be tragedy or miracle for them, and a proverb for us.
But as time goes by their hands seemed to hold a bit tighter. Their smiles, a bit wider. Could it be a miracle? It may feel like it, but 4 weeks in France isn't enough for a lifetime of love for anyone. If you want it, you've gotta go further. You've got to be insane.
They're insane. Wonderfully, miraculously, insane.
At the program's end she will meet the parents. He cancels plans for Egypt for his Mexicana.
There are enough tragedies in the world. Obviously. Perhaps we shouldn't create more of them by not believing in miracles.