My Blood Is Full Of Airplanes: A Postcard From Paris.

I boarded the métro once arriving in Paris. I didn't quite know where I was going, but roaming the thick-aired and cobblestone-coated city at night made me feel so alive and astir. I must confess feeling a bit guilty... The journey, in essence, was taken with four other girls, but mainly I was alone. I was lost in my thoughts and my experience and in the act of inhaling every inch of the bizarre and unfamiliar place that is Paris, France.

I think the only way I can accurately describe the short trip is magical. Champagne, macaroons, new friends, new adventures, yelling, laughing, tequila shots, sunburn, a sparkling Eiffel Tower, midnight rain, hidden alleys. It was truly incredible and an experience that I will carry with me forever.

It's hard to miss the way Paris lights up a soul and steals the air; feel it lock onto every breath I take & swallow me in it's wonder. I feel like falling and falling and falling forever. It seemed that a few times within the 3.5 days, that the city would've liked nothing more than to posses my breath, completely. It was as if Paris was a thief, a bandit... attempting to pilfer my soul and devour my entity until I no longer know where I've been or who I've been. There is only the here and the now. There is only the steps I anticipate taking forward, in an uncomfortable pair of shoes, on streets that are so estranged. I'm confident in saying that I fell in love, a bit. I don't really blame myself.... I don't see how you could visit that place and not experience a love affair of some sort. If not with the city itself, than with the food or the wine or perhaps a scruffy French boy, dressed to kill, who speaks words in foreign tongues.
C’est la fin, mon merveilleaux ami. This is the end, beautiful friend.