In the words of the Grateful Dead, “Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it’s been.”
I have reached the end of my life as a Parisian. How can this be over? There is still wine to be drunk, shoes to be bought, boys to be kissed…
I’m happy to go home, but going home means leaving France. I’m so full of emoticons right now!
It’s bittersweet, to say the least. I feel like I did it all, but in Paris, can you ever really do it all? I ate, prayed, and loved (and don’t even try to call me out on that because I went to Lessons & Carols on the George V last Sunday).
On one hand, a real Parisian told me that I sound just like Brigitte Bardot when I speak French, so basically my life is complete. On the other hand, I still can’t correctly pronounce the French word for eyeball.
Also I’m not sure what it says about me as a person that I’m more upset about leaving Paris on December 21st than the world ending on December 21st. I’ve been re-pinning inspirational quotes all week to subdue my Paris-separation anxiety, but at the end of the day, the punctuation is all wrong, the typeface is shit, and I still don’t feel any better.
I’m so lucky to have spent the summer in Cannes and the semester in Paris, but all good things must come to an end. It’s been a great six months, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome visa.
I hate to say goodbye, so I’ll just say “au revoir.” I’ll be seeing you, Paris.
