Air France

    My plane landed on August 23^rd in the Paris, France airport.  It was a bit crowded when the 70 or so tourists unloaded the plane all in search of the tour guide. Little did we know our tour guide was simply an artist in disguise.

   I think we were all tourists at first (even though we’ll never admit it). We needed a map and step by step directions to find our way around Paris. We were too afraid to step over the line or make a wrong turn because it was ingrained into our minds that every question needs an answer, every variable needs a letter, and behind every equal sign there is a solution. But in Paris we learned to “eff that crap!” In Paris we learned that you don’t have to be a kid to go to space camp. In Paris we learned to paint with chalk, write about blocks, and that stealing someone’s crayons is emotionally disturbing so BACK OFF! In Paris we learned that our tour guide was secretly an artist talking about business school like it would actually help you in life. But we all knew Christine would choose Raoul because it’s “logical” right? The Phantom never stood a chance. He was a musical genius who was misunderstood and apparently sane means more to relationships than love these days.

   Our tour guide was disguised as an artist. He taught us religion like there was no anti-Christ. I know it’s sacrilegious but in Paris we learned to speak the truth. In Paris no one cared about grammar, punctuation, or capitalization. In Paris we were artists with an unfinished canvas. 
In Paris we learned to scribble and ramble out our thoughts. In Paris we found ourselves naked while still fully clothed. But on January 10^th everything changes, because our flight leaves a 12:12 at the sound of a lunch bell. Some of us might shed a few tears because Paris was more than just delicious croissants and the Eiffel Tower. Paris is where it rained almost every day, and you know what they say about kissing in the rain. Paris is where the jocks, the hipsters, the cheerleaders, the goths, the brainwashed, the broken, the terrified and the out spoken had completely forgotten about all the stereotypes for 80 minutes every other day. Paris is where we finally learned the difference between being a native and a tourist.

  They say you get “lost in Paris,”

  but somehow,

  somehow I think I was found.