Paris, Je T'aime

It was the small moments the caught his eye the most. He could sit there and describe the tiniest details about anything. Something as simple as a waitress pouring him expresso. He could begin describing anything about it - how the color of her Parisian skin stood in stark contrast to the ceramic cup an saucer, or how the surface rippled ever so slightly as the dense cream churned within the expresso. Of course he'd talk about the smell, how it was pungent and empowering, enough to wake you to your core, even before you took a sip. The sweetness of the creme could tickle your nose, wetting your palate instantly. It was magic and it was only breakfast. Add a croissant on the side and it was heaven.

It wasn't just caffeinated beverages that attracted him. It was the culture - how wart was important, playing second fiddle to money and social status. He adored how the people seemed standoffish but would warm up once an effort was made to speak to them in their native language. Work didn't seem like work. It seemed more like fun. The children he saw all seemed happy - living life, full of energy, smiling. The families were unified and tight.

It was the smell of the city. He could be surrounded by walls on all sides - but the air was fresh, clean, pure. It wasn't thick with smog, odors from the trash or alleys. It was inviting.

He need not go into how the architecture is one of a kind. That at one moment you could be walking down a street only to turn a corner and be in a medieval alley, walking atop cobblestone. The massive cathedrals didn't need to be mentioned. Or the artistry that went into every single piece of food.

It was rather clear that Paris had won him over.

And he would return.