Bonjour, Tristesse

My last day in Paris: disappointing.  Closed establishments, bad sketches, aching feet, trite sentiments.  I should have gone to the movies like I wanted to instead of fearing that it wasn’t the “right” activity.  I don’t want to depart –– period the end.  I could probably hear the bells of Notre Dame from my room every day for the rest of my life and not get sick of them.  Stuck at this event where I don’t really want to be –– I wish I was out at dinner already, eating a salade chevre chaud.  I will return home Great-American-Novel-less.  Le tear.  I want this day to be over, finally, so I can lock myself in the book store and find my Never Ending Story or Wizard of Oz so I can read it and enter an alternate universe in which I save the Child-Like Empress (or lead the motley crew toward the Emerald Palace, whatevs) and become queen of a tiny, magical world that I never, ever have to leave.

See you on the other side.

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