Come to Paris

He said “Come, come to Paris”

His native Arabic tongue mixed with a French accent.

It is the sentence any girl would dream of.

In any movie, any girl would pack only her essentials, hail a cab to the airport…call her mother of course and board the next plane from Atlanta to Charles de Gualle.

All they had were the memories of their two hours and London and the some 8 hours in Paris.

She regrets it because she held back so much from him in the City of Love.

She should not have done that. Sticking to too high of standards didn’t work that time. He was worth her vulnerability. She knows that now. She should have let herself fall. She will always love the picture on her mantle that he so patiently took at the Siene. Their ears froze off as they sat on top of the boat that passed the Notre Dame. They had the meal at that Lebanese restaurant, and the confusion at the Louvre. The Oud…oh the Oud. The smell will forever tie him to her memories. She regrets avoiding spa day. Not kissing him on the lips before she disappeared into the Metro. She over thought his religion. She blamed it on his faith. He prays five times a day but he isn’t a prude. She took advantage of the “See you later.” Sad because she hasn’t seen him again. He moved to the City of Love. She likes to think that is their meeting spot. He is just waiting on her to arrive. She planned to see him twice this year to introduce him to her culture and life while she stayed in his…but the world got sick.

In the meantime, she will have to settle for their phones calls, video calls, and text messages until she can hail her cab from Atlanta to Charles de Gaulle and “Come, come to Paris.”

She will spend her last dime to see him again. Maybe they can figure out a way.

It’s time to recalibrate the Universe.

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