It's been three years since I lived in New York, four months since I was last in Paris, and I've attempted to write this post far too many times in the past two weeks. However cliché, distance does makes the heart grow fonder. But my longing as of late is much more than that, amplified by the realization that support and strength is oftentimes most felt through the physically "being there".
I spent our last hour in Paris lying in bed with a migraine, dozing off between the soft murmurs of sparrows in the courtyard. Though unwell, I was secure, calm. And then I almost made me and Rachael miss our train back to London because I needed more photos and a pain aux raisins for the following morning. The truth is, I hadn't wanted to leave; not when (where) everything made sense again.