adios paris

You know those trips you take and you're like, "This is totally great, I'm going to write all about it when I get home so that I can remember it forever."

But as soon as you get home your mom is telling you that you need to unpack and give her all of your dirty clothes so that she can wash them and you need to let the dog out and you need to shower and then you want to go tell all your friends about your trip so you go and hang out with them and then you come home and go to bed and then its three months later and you remember that you didn't write about that trip so now you remember nothing.

This trip isn't like that.

This trip is full of time spent remembering.

Remember the way it looks like the world, and smells like hope.

Remember the way it tastes like ink, but sounds like a PG-13 movie.

Remember the way that you feel after another day in Paris. 

This is the place to become a free thinker, 

and then a free writer.

Remember how you feel here. 

Remember how you feel alive, how you feel like you're an artist, remember how your imagination used to be, remember how it feels to connect with strangers, how it feels to have your writing read.

Remember how you were hoping to get shot as many times near the end of the trip. ("THE SPREAD! THE SPREAD!") Remember how this was the first time in a long time that you want to hear all that a tour-guide has to say.

Remember to enjoy Paris.