You come back. First you blame the food. And there is a difference, really. The bread isn’t as flaky and moist. The cheese isn’t as creamy. Everything isn’t quite as…fresh. Then you can’t sleep at night and find yourself wandering around a bit too absent-mindedly and you realize that this has nothing to do with the food or even the fact that you’re not in Europe, but simply that she is not here.
I pined. I moped about. I poured my heart out on pages and pages. There’s no real substitute to sleeping after an incredibly long day next to a warm, beautiful woman with mocha skin and a laugh that makes you melt. So I took the advice of those much older and wiser than me. I shrugged off my sense of responsibility and did it. I’m going back to her.
Precisely 5 days after I finish my last final of my undergraduate career, I will board a plane back to Lyon. I will spend the entirety of a month living in France, with an anticipated excursion into Prague for new year’s eve. I am usually much more sensible than this, but there is a time to listen to your reason and there is a time to abandon it entirely.
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