Torn.

I love the beach. The salty water scrubs me clean of worry; the peppery sand massages my soul and my feet. I want to go every day to swim, to sit, to breathe, to feel warm.

Alas, alack.

Back to Paris this Friday. All polluted city and no taxis and arguments in restaurants over bad service.

And the most beautiful walks through history as I race by foot to work.

And friends who are family.

And an apartment high in the sky with a white cat aggressively purring to be fed.

I will greatly miss the beach and long for it every day. Now, though, Paris is a home found. Paris, mon ami, I'll see you very soon.