she never dreamed of Paris, but Paris dreamed of her.
it beckoned her across land and sea. enticing her with images of the Eiffel Tower. it used the tower like a pawn in an elaborate game. calling to her through books and notes, on billboards and signage. Paris seemed to be wherever she was.
its name in lights in Las Vegas. in advertisements in every magazine she read.
the owner of her local bookshop spoke of the Parisian lover who stole his heart in 1948. an old friend sent her a box of pastries from the most authentic French bakery in the city. a postcard from her former college roommate, now living in Boston, arrived with the Eiffel Tower ornately embossed in gold foil on the front.
Paris was everywhere, and it wouldn’t stop until it saw her, in person.
as she stared up, from the base of the tower, she couldn’t help but wonder about the signs she must have missed. all the serendipitous moments that went unnoticed, yet still managed to nudge her in the direction of the city of love.
looking at Paris in this light, beside her beloved, she was ever grateful for the city’s persistence.
“what are you thinking mon amour?” he asked. they’d known one another for less than a year, but their loved blossomed quickly.
some of his fondest childhood memories included running through lavender fields in the French countryside. his mother was born and raised in Paris, his father an American statesman. he was used to traveling abroad, but this was her first time.
“i was thinking about all the moments that led to this one. All the dots that led me to you,” she replied as her eyes swelled.
“ah, Paris! It picked you for me…” he said.
And she for him.
