I’ve seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil.
(Is it possible to really be this happy? Sometimes I feel like there’s no way I could ever come home. This place is made of magic. I’m living in a dream where questions get answered and worries are forgotten and growth is imminent. Pinch me, this can’t all be real.)
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