Paris

So, when I was in Paris, like I said, I was very inspired, and I wrote a little thing.  You should have seen me.  I was hunched over my phone, typing this little thing out.  I've censored it, by the way, but my mom suggested I post it, so I will.

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The Paris Sickness


The inspiration here is so intense it's almost mythical. It hits you like a heat wave right as you enter the city limits. Like a heat wave, insanely hot and going a million miles a minute. It floods your brain like you've just burst a vessel in your mind that until now held all of your imagination, concentrated like a can of soup.

And it only gets worse. You walk from the Seine to the Eiffel Tower dodging the overly persistent venders who walk up to you, jangling their metal hoops strung with miniature Eiffel Towers and all you can think is that you wish you had your notebook or your laptop or at the very least a napkin and a pen.

It consumes you in less than three hours; it seeps through your veins until you just want to open an artery and write in your own blood to get it out of your system.

But you can't. It's not a virus, not really. Even though it infects you and there's absolutely no cure in the world, it's not a virus.

It's an addiction. Because you just know, as your eyes desperately drink in everything you see, that after you leave, you'll be aching to come back. You'll thirst for it until you find yourself back in the City of Light with two thousand years of history at your fingertips.

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TTFN

M.K. Wissler