It is not easy to explain how painful good things can be.
Pain in the most beautiful way possible.
I've been lucky enough to have a semester of a lifetime. Living in Paris was as insane as it sounds. It's all true; The food, the parties, la vie en rose, the baguettes, the traveling, the culture, the cafes. All of it.
Everything is so perfect in a city that is universally loved. It simply works- and what does not work works too. Paris is Paris. There is nothing on earth like a city so historic, so architectonic, perfectly gray and colorful like this one. It's the language, the culture, the movement, the life and the stillness of it all. I spent loads of time simply looking at it all and taking it in searching for the right description for a city like this one. The right words never came to mind. It's too big for us, it's magical and demonized and elegant but overpriced and worth every single moment. No other city is like Paris. That is the magic of these 105.4 km²; Nobody can copy it because it is too unique.
Now that the pinching starts being felt, I begin to wake up from this dream. There are no words to express how much love I have for all the people that I met, for all the thrill felt, and for the endless amount of experience gained.
Having a semester like this one made me realize more than I thought. I have learned the value of keeping a home, of working things out with others to come to an agreement, to live independently and in touch, to take care of money, to adapt and to appreciate every single moment that you are given. It's all been adrenaline and euphoria. I've been living a life I aspire to sustain forever, even though I know it is not how it is (for now!).
My heart breaks for myself, for all these moments of euphoric happiness, I always knew, would come to its end.
To my roommates who are my sisters, to the flirts that lasted a short romance, to my friends who are my family and to the strangers that were my observing art, thank you. To the endless calories and chocolate, to the bottomless glasses of wine and Italian pastas, thank you. To the tears of happiness and the loudness of joy, to the smiles and indifferent faces, I thank you. The tunnels of museums and galleries, the lights of the city, the picture perfect boutique stores and the sassy bouncers, thank you. To every single laugh and every single chair I sat on, thank you. The cold breeze and the sweaty sun, the long streets and the seine river, thank you. I start to believe thank you is my favorite word, for all the good, the bad and in-between, I am thankful for you.
My father. Thank you. My mother, thank you. Paris, Merci beaucoup.
Some things are unforgettable, but this semester is more than that, it's tattooed in my heart.
Je ne t'oublierai jamais Paris. Merci sans fin.
Xoxo, Stella.
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