Paris as the poets and writers of old had seen her was just pictures in books. A city that has inspired so many, while it could never truly die, I had never seen the grand sights that haunted the dreams of poets and priests alike.
It looked nothing like my memories. Places shared names, shared the history of the ground, but little else in material or cosmetics. And yet it still seemed the closest to home that I have been since arriving here.
This Paris is quite the city. I would hope anyone else visiting would have as charming a traveling companion as mine, but she is of a singular charm.