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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.