The sun was filling the little square with the kind of golden light usually reserved for romantic comedies. I should have been annoyed with all the people who surrounded me, but their chatter, incessant photo taking, foreign tongues and giggling children had no effect on me for I was one of them today, as much as I'd like to deny it. I snagged a seat and took in the scene around me. A scene that brought back many memories—a church service, a steak, a missing aunt—but I was still able to simply enjoy the exact moment I was in. I took a bite of a perfectly flaky pain au chocolat that none in New York can even compare to and heaved a sigh. I had made it back to Paris.
I had woken up at 3 a.m., caught two buses, a cramped plane, the stupid RER and a dank metro and when I finally arrived, unwashed and bleary eyed, I had never felt less tired. I quickly dropped off my luggage and headed out, turned a corner and there she was, bathing in the bluish-gray morning light.
Years of dreaming and scheming to get back there had finally paid off. I breathed in the smell of French bread, early fall and garbage—it is just a city after all—and you could have punched me and nothing could the smile from my face. I made the short walk along the Seine toward the Île Saint-Louis and I was practically skipping. I made my way down the narrow cobblestone streets where Paris began and stumbled into a brightly lit bakery, pastries gleaming in the still-early morning light. I made my request and my french flowed out as if I had never once forgotten how to say "Merci" and I quickly made my way to the square in front of Notre Dame. I hadn't planned it to be my first stop but it was like a magnet; pulling me to the true center of the city in order to welcome me back. It is where the above moment took place, me on a bench breathing in the beauty of the scene, enjoying my pastry and feeling satisfied, giddy, content and more alive than I'd felt in months.
1 comment:
haha your moment has garbage smell in it
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