But I don't know no love songs. And I can't sing the blues, anymore.

I really was going to blog.

I was going to tell you lots of stories of losing myself in the beauty and finding myself, and finding God and happiness too. And I hope that once I get back, I'll be able to remember clearly enough to articulate how exactly I felt while climbing in the mountains of Cinque Terre or trapsing along the rain-soaked cobblestones of Florence, how good the food and wine were while we enjoyed them for hours high atop a mountain somewhere between Livorno and Ponsacco, and what if felt like to experience Paris for the first time with two of my nearest and dearest. I hope I do, but perhaps I won't and perhaps all we really need to know is that for the past two weeks I've been just plan happy, and full of life and love and too much cheese.

Don't worry. There will at least be pictures. That, I can promise you. Sometimes I think the reason I take so damn many is because they do a much better job of doing justice to things words never can. Of course, the pictures can't come close to the memories, but I at least like the opportunity to try and share something with you.

But for now, I'm off in search of vampires. Yup.