My Paris blog is bound to be very different than the others, I just have a feeling. It’s either because of my innumerable re-reads of A Moveable Feast or my obsession with Midnight in Paris or maybe because I just hope to come out a changed person after Paris. This all sounds too romantic to be honest. Hemingway says writing is easy, but the way this piece is going, I can’t help but disagree. But I’ll give this a shot, I’ll start this off with “one true sentence”, and hopefully everything will flow.
I think I am in love with the idea of Paris, I am still waiting to board my flight so I haven’t really seen the city myself, but something about the city appeals to me. The romantic way of life, almost unreal to any fast moving metropolitan city. I can’t really call it a city anymore, it would be wrong to do so. It’s so much more than anything a city can even hope to be. It seems like I am obsessed with the city. But, as I said, I am in love with the idea of Paris and only time can tell if my expectations would fuel happiness or disappointment. It is kinda like being pen friends with someone, you think you have known them for years, but are scared to meet them in person because you think it is too good to be true. Paris is too good to be true, my friends who have been there, hated it, but I guess I am different, I guess it will be different for me.
I have spent the last few weeks, meticulously planning every day. The places I would visit, the food I would have, the gardens I would stroll through. Imagining myself walking along the Seine, seeing the Eiffel light up with a bottle of wine wrapped in a paper bag in my hand, walk the roads where Hemingway walked.
Paris had been the love of my life and I get to meet her tomorrow. For some reason, unknown to me, I hope to leave the city with more than I could have ever imagined. Only time will tell.