I’m having a moment. I have a nagging desire to live three stores up, with hardwood floors, high ceilings, and an old cracked window in the bathroom. I long to be sitting in a warm bath, reading a novel, while some slow, soft music drifts from a few doors down.

And some afternoons I long to be sitting in Luxembourg park, skimming a magazine, Lula perhaps. All the people around me moving, coming and going, breathing, and I’d just sit there, occasionally looking up to see them pass.

Some nights, most nights like last, I crave to go out walking along side the water way. Just to hear the sound of French accents and laughter and to see all the bright lights. I’d walk to meet friends, and we too would spend the night together, talking, laughing, sharing ideas, and exchanging secrets.

Truth be told, I miss Paris. I’ve missed it since I realized I had to leave it. It eats away at me, occasionally making my current conditions feel less valuable than they are. I know my thoughts are not rational, but you might say “I am caught up in a love affair,” with Paris that is.

I know I am not the first, hundredth, one millionth to love such a city. But the nagging longing to be back their starts to gnaw away at you, it taxes you, and takes its toll.

Paris fit. Something about it was comfortable. Like when you crawl into bed at night and your head touches the pillow. It’s the warmth beneath the blanket, the cushion embracing your head. Paris just felt right.

I know I am romanticizing, making and creating a fantasy of Paris in my head.

Maybe someday . . . we could have a second home, a small studio apartment for long summer stays. God knows, we will never move there, of all things Paris has to offer, it is missing one of the greatest things of all . . . Oakland A’s Baseball.

What can I say, maybe I am an American after all, what ever that means.

p.s. Pia posted some soundscapes from Paris on her blog. This is about the closest I am going to get to Paris for now.