[wearing vintage eyelet kaftan, Parisian wedges]
I just got back from a crazy 4-day-last-minute trip to the insanely beautiful city of Marrakech! My feet ache from the alternating abuse I subjected them to (running around the Medina and clubbing all over town), travelling back to Rabat via train in a hungover daze and still managing to come up with enough energy to go out to get groceries. I am spent. I look forward to moving as little as possible tomorrow, and doing basically nothing all day, which wont be hard to do, because my heart is still stuck somewhere in Marrakech's old town.. What a magical place!
Today's topic on my mind, spurned by girlfriends' Facebook statuses and current dilemmas, is one that seems to resurface on my blog from time to time. As we continue on in life, it seems to be impossible to avoid falling in and out of love. Movies, media, celebrity are all sorts of factors that help dumb down our female logic and reduce us to insecure and fragile beings who mistakenly believe they need to be loved by the opposite sex in order for us to feel whole. And so we commit ourselves over and over again, hoping that each time will be the last time we have to play this emotional lottery, and that maybe, just maybe we will finally find "the one". The fickle soul that I am, I am a constant mess of cynicism and hope, but today the former took a hold of me. At my age, I have had my fair share of I love you's, but today was the very first time I actually thought about the meaning of those words, and had to ask myself: "Have I actually ever been in love?"
Maybe I just had too much time to think on my 5-hour-train-ride.