It's better to love anyways

Bucharest Waltz, early 1900s

I love many corners of the world - the forgotten ones dusty and musky.

Like the corner in New York city where I had a smoke in this flimsy dress outside a mexican dancing club filled with drugs and salsa.

Or the filthy train coach station in Korea where I fell asleep on Kimmie's huge suitcase in the sun waiting for the midnight bus to take us to the mud beaches in 2012 where we had fresh oysters by the sea and cabbage soup in the mornings. Where the chefs had teddy bears in the kitchens and dirty aprons with smiley faces on them.

Or the kitchen courtyard view at my grandparents' Bucharest flat - where pigeons flew in and out and made a mess of the place.

Or our first flat in the Toronto ghetto before the money and the house and the chandeliers.

Or the park I fell asleep in my boyfriend's lap in Paris 2009.

Or when I made out with this british bloke in Oxford at the Red Lion pub in 2010.

This beach I found in Puerto Plata.

Or this dusty square in Havana filled with stray dogs and pieces of spanish thrown in the air like laughter.