This was almost 10 years ago. Where does the time go?

This was the first thing I saw as I walked down the long corridor, with a skylight above it, the light beaming down onto Winged Victory like she was coming alive; like I was walking on sacred ground, toward this magnificent sculpture and the artworks that it beckoned to. It is monumental. I was blown away and I took so many photos of it in an attempt to preserve its impact. I had to get a picture of myself with it. The only clean clothes I had were what I was wearing (the skirt and scarf I bought two days prior in Barcelona). I was totally exhausted, drained, running out of money, and yet simultaneously overwhelmed with excitement to actually see the masterpieces I have loved for so long from a distance. I think I cried when I saw the Raft of the Medusa in person. I know I cried when I saw the Oath of the Horatii. I was walking amongst Michelangelos, Raphaels, Davids, Gericaults, Canovas… I was in their spaces, examining them, feeling probably what their contemporary viewers felt. I was being seduced by Cupid & Psyche; called to action by the Oath of the Horatii; influenced into meditative stillness by Da Vinci. How could I leave?