Under the influence
Of what, I'm not sure
Delving deep tonight
With smoke and mirrors leading the way
Uncovering mysteries I wasn't looking to solve

First off, I just want to clarify that I generally don't expect major life transitions to be easy (especially not ones that involve moving to France on a whim). However, I never thought that leaving life as I knew it would be easier than returning.  Alas, life continues to prove me wrong, as my recent return to the states has been surprisingly hard.

Really *$%@# hard.

The only explanation I can muster up is that Paris became my home, and much more quickly than I expected.  It's truly amazing how well one is capable of adapting to a new set of circumstances.

As I sit here, a mere month and a half after my return, I already feel like I was living another life.  It's as though I'm slowly waking from a dream and coming back to reality, only it's a far different reality than the one I left five months ago.

This was an experience that pushed me to my limits (which I willingly signed up for), but unfortunately also put a strain on the people around me who signed no such waiver.  Many things were fractured while I was away, and I'm finding that it's quite impossible to shape the bits and pieces into something that resembles what once was.

The good news is, I think that's okay. Maybe even a good thing.

Although it may be slightly counter-intuitive from a relationship standpoint to come back from four months in another country and tell your boyfriend that you "don't need him," this risky statement was reciprocated with the understanding that I'd hoped for, and has established itself as a major milestone in this process.  

I think it's good to be reminded every once in a while that life is made up of constant choices, relationships being no different.  After all, at it's very core, isn't a relationship simply two people choosing one another each day?  This is something I've stewed over quite a bit during the past weeks; so much that I think I'm finally starting to get it.

I know what you're thinking..."Here she is again, trying to neatly extract life lessons out of each and every experience".  Granted, this may be true.  However, this time it feels different.

Not forced or clear-cut in any way, but incredibly freeing nonetheless.

Truth.

Just when I thought I was getting ridiculously good at compartmentalizing... 

Meticulously filing away any and all unpleasant thoughts in the file marked "Do not open".

It came out of nowhere. 

A very unexpected slap to the face. 
Apparently you can't prepare for the unexpected. 

Who knew?

And Then There Were Two.

Two nights left.
Two friends saying goodbyes over champagne and cigarettes.  A random puppy in my lap...and being groped by a drunk, homeless man. 
So perfectly Parisian.

"There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lives in it differs from that of any other...Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it"

If this is true, Mr. Hemingway, then I must have brought my very best to Paris, because what it's given me in return is quite immeasurable.  Looking back through journal entries from the past three months is like reading someone else's life.  One that is far more thrilling, scandalous, and altogether intriguing than my own.  Sometimes I don't even know who this girl is.  

But I'm finding that I actually kind of like her.  

So I thank you, Paris for bringing her to my attention, and Mr. H for reminding me that there's much more where that came from.

Oh, the noise in my head these days.  Louder by the second.  Deafening at times.  Pretty sure there's not enough wine in France to quell it...but what the hell, it's worth a shot.