I have gotten one question a lot in my weeks after returning to the states and being shuffled from family gathering to family gathering: naturally, the first is "how was Paris?" "What did you see?" and "Didn't you love it?" (Great, everything, and of course) the question I have been left to think about more deeply is this: "When will you go back to Paris?"

Some of my friends are fortunate enough to return to the city of love after a brief foray back home, enough time to eat peanut butter and meet family and see loved ones. But I do not have this opportunity; not a French major, not making enough money, not able to spend so much time away from the academic center of my university. So I will go back to "real school" in February, drive down to Roanoke, live in a dorm room and read books in English. And this will be good. But I will have maps and pictures and concert tickets on my wall that will remind me of where I've been and will ask me when I'll return. I've got to: I've left pieces of myself there, carved into trees and scrawled alongside the Musée d'Orsay. I don't know how, why, or when -- but I will be back.

And in the intermediary time, from now until I can find another way back to Charles De Gaulle airport and sleepily extract myself from airplane seats, until I can find a bus to take me from one glorious destination to the next, until I can walk for miles just to take a chance on something that may be exciting, I will let myself be awash with gratitude and love.

I am first and forever grateful to my family, whose support has been the most important aspect of all. It’s not easy to let your kid fly across the ocean and move to a new country, but my family has always been supportive and encouraging. I am thankful for good friends: new friends I’ve made here, American and French, old friends I’ve left behind and am excited to see again, old friends who made the journey with me and are now different friends. I am so grateful for my partner, who has been a partner in the truest sense through every step of my journey. I am thankful to my body, which I have loved in Paris in a way I have never been able to before. It has carried me over 8 countries, thousands of miles, and four pairs of shoes. It has taken me on beautiful walks through the most beautiful parts of the city. It has brought me to experiences I will never forget. I fell in love in Paris, but not the way one expects; Paris is the city of love because love is woven into it. Every space, every tower, every park is embroidered with love. I love my body because it is strong, powerful, and pretty cool when you think about it. I am thankful to Hollins, for making Paris a feasible option for me. To professors, to women who gave me directions and nicely correct my French, to the waiters who knew my name, to metro drivers who paused the train 10 seconds longer so I could jump in the first car: thank you.

I am thankful for a few other things that are not people and therefore don’t need as much love: to art, which is everywhere; to music, which comes from unexpected sources; to expat diners in the Marais when homesickness kicks in and a crepe is not a pancake; to the Tuileries; to my walk home (Latin Quarter, Marais, past Notre Dame, past Ilê de Cité, through the Louvre gardens, down the Tuileries, a loop around Concorde, a promenade down the Champs-Elysées, under the Arc de Triomphe, and down streets illuminated for Christmas); to the conversations I overheard in the metro and gradually grew to understand; to French, for making me go extra outside my comfort zone; to my journal, for giving me a space to express myself in English; to my shoes, which are now sole-less; to overnight buses; to late wine-saturated nights; to great afternoons spent with my friends; to tour-guiding; to making dumb mistakes in French class; to writing last-minute papers in French about Czechoslovakia, which is difficult to spell in English but impossible in French; to sounding stupid when talking to French people; to being young, broke, and carefree in the most beautiful city in the world; to the small moments in Paris, of which I had about twelve a day, where the reality of how beautiful and incredible the city is just washes over you; to not doing homework; to waiting in line at the Centre Georges Pompidou and trying to explain your book to the French student of English in front of you in line; to being really happy to speak English with anyone; to teaching people English when you’re in France to learn French; to Franglais; to the books I didn’t bring and wish I had, and the books I bought and will eventually wish I hadn’t; to the Seine, for being like lifeblood to me; to the nice servers, to the funny bartenders; to wine, and to champagne, and to wine again; to The Front Bottoms and my first concert; to traveling to another country for 10 euros; to learning independence out of necessity; to realizing the importance of your own country; to cat cafés; to Montmarte; to le Marais; to falafel; to everything. To everything.

Paris, je t’aime. Je reviendrais. Je ne regrette rien. Merci pour tous.