So I snuggle my sheets, relish the moments in our cute, little airbnb in Le Marais, before I get up and continue playing pretend
as a well-composed French woman.
I was sitting in a cafe with no real, concrete plan for the day, too full to finish the petit dejeuner I ordered; not quite ready to take on the city on my own just yet. So I sat, watched the people pass by and eavesdropped into people's conversations, trying to catch the little French I know.
So, I was left alone in a cafe by Avenue Carnot, obviously had to foot the bill for brunch. But everything else and anxieties aside, I really had no choice but to step out of comfort and just enjoy every minute of it.
There really was no getting used to Paris. Everywhere I went, I was still mesmerised by everything - the mansard roofs, the river, the cobbled streets, the John Hamon posters everywhere, and even those Midnight-in-Paris-lampposts. Wherever I went, I’d think, “that’s so French,” and I loved it all.
There's this allure that the city exuded that made me feel like I fit in, that even if I didn't understand most of what people were saying, I got it. So the city stole my heart and it could've done whatever it wanted with it.. Probably should've given it to a cute French boy. (smh)