It's strange to think that the end is finally drawing near. Stranger still to know this and be unable to really imagine it.
It seems that life can go on like this forever. When I walk beside Notre Dame on my way to my Sorbonne class or when I pass the fruit merchant who always tries to get me to buy his strawberries, I almost forget that this isn't my life.
Every day my prof tells me stories of students who came here for a semester or a summer and ended up deciding to stay here for years. Years is a scary word for me. I realize that I could in fact be one of these people.
Never having been one to give any real attachment to many people, I feel that I could pick up my life and start it over again without a moment's hesitation. And I'm finding now that the thought of this doesn't scare me anymore. I can say that I want to live around the world, in countries where I know how to say nothing more than "hi" and "I love you."
When I go back to Virginia maybe this will all be different again. Maybe I will return to that life where I get though the day by telling myself that this assignment will be worth something, this class will be worth something, this degree will be worth something. But what worth can a piece of paper really hold when I know that there is no interest in me remaining?
So now I fear Paris will be an end. In more ways than one.
It seems that life can go on like this forever. When I walk beside Notre Dame on my way to my Sorbonne class or when I pass the fruit merchant who always tries to get me to buy his strawberries, I almost forget that this isn't my life.
Every day my prof tells me stories of students who came here for a semester or a summer and ended up deciding to stay here for years. Years is a scary word for me. I realize that I could in fact be one of these people.
Never having been one to give any real attachment to many people, I feel that I could pick up my life and start it over again without a moment's hesitation. And I'm finding now that the thought of this doesn't scare me anymore. I can say that I want to live around the world, in countries where I know how to say nothing more than "hi" and "I love you."
When I go back to Virginia maybe this will all be different again. Maybe I will return to that life where I get though the day by telling myself that this assignment will be worth something, this class will be worth something, this degree will be worth something. But what worth can a piece of paper really hold when I know that there is no interest in me remaining?
So now I fear Paris will be an end. In more ways than one.
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