There are a lot of things I miss about Paris.
I miss my charming, over priced studette, though I don’t miss the lumpy bed. I miss the movie poster near my running toilet and the border of the sights of Paris around the walls. I miss the just perfectly sized for me but not quite my suitcases apartment. I miss walking to school every morning, even though it was often 40 degrees and damp.
I miss the Paris metro, and occasionally sneaking in. I miss asking for directions in French.
I miss the rue Moftard, especially the fake Chipotle and the cutely named bookstore I can’t recall that I only visited once.
I miss living in a city where it was cool to like museums and expositions and opera.
I miss my classmates, each different and almost all from different countries, who I shared laughter and learning with.
I miss feeling like I was appreciated for exactly who I was, and feeling like I kind of fit in, pretty much for the first time.
I miss how almost everything was beautiful.
I miss going to see major historical landmarks when I had a few free hours.
I miss the almond croissants and knowing that my food was food.
I miss knowing Croatia and other new worlds were only about 30 euros and 2 hours away.
I miss speaking the language of mon coeur, which, while not my mother tongue, still makes me feel as though I’m playing music when I speak it.
I miss the person who texted me “coucou ma belle” as I walked home from school, who I occasionally made dinner for, and who lived in Paris without ever seeing anything but le Louvre.
I miss that other world, that I knew was a golden age, that I accepted would end.
I miss it even though I had the courage to leave. I still feel ambivalent about that choice, but I think I did the right thing.
I miss it so much, I know I’m coming back.
I miss it, but that’s what dreams are for.
Le reve se realisera encore.