don't call my name

I think Paris was both the best idea and the worst idea.  The best idea because I had the absolute time of my life.  The worst, because now all I can think about is when I'm going to come back.  For good.

The thing is, there are very few things that I'm sure about in my life.  I find myself going back and forth from option to option and I'm constantly scared about the future.  Because it's scary.  But when I come to Paris, all of a sudden, everything makes complete sense.  Anything that I may have been juggling in my head seems to go away and I'm left with the perfect answers.

People ask me why I love this city so much.  I don't know.  I love the little streets, the grand boulevards, the grocery stores, the markets.  I love riding bus #47 because it hits all the best places.  I love walking from line 11 to line 7 in Chatelet because you don't have to walk very far, they're on the same side.  I love the woman in front of the Centre Pompidou playing the strange instrument she doesn't actually know how to play.  I love being recognized by the man who works at Parvis and Yasna's husband at the mosque.  It makes my day that they know us.  I love eating pates avec aubergines at Marion's house, listening to Lakme or Serge Gainsbourg and laughing about n'importe quoi.  I love thinking about my future here.  Having an apartment, going to work with the metro, having kids who speak French and have that impeccable French style.

I can't seem to move past the idea that I belong here.  Because I really believe that I belong here.  I believe that everyone has a niche, and Paris is mine.  I don't know if I can explain to you the happiness I felt being back here.  It was so amazing, and so normal at the same time.  I mean, it felt as if I didn't leave for a year.  That I was just continuing my life from the moment I said goodbye to Marion at her apartment, and then starting right back there.

And now, sitting at the airport, waiting for my flight, I'm just so sad.  In fact, I'm crying.  I'm sitting here, at the airport, in front of all these people, typing this blog and crying, and I can't seem to stop crying.  I know I have to go back and finish school, I know that there are things that I still need to do, I know I know I know. I know.  I KNOW.
But I'm left with this longing.  This tugging in the back of my head that keeps asking, "why are you going back?  This is where you belong.  Stay.  Stay.  Don't go.  Don't go.  Bemoon.  Naro."  And I want to listen to that voice SO BADLY.  So badly.

But I can't.  So I'll just cry.  And leave you with this depressing blog entry.