Dear Paris,
Save me a little December.
Not the perfectly arranged, snow-covered version from the movies. The real one.
The one where the air is cold enough to make you pull your scarf a little tighter. Where café windows glow like small invitations and every bakery feels like a very reasonable place to hide from the weather.
Save me the sound of footsteps on wet sidewalks. The smell of something buttery. The moment you step inside a warm café and suddenly understand why nobody seems particularly eager to leave.
Save me the little bookshops where time seems to move differently. The flower stalls that refuse to let winter have the final word. The Seine on a gray afternoon, when the bridges look like they belong in an old photograph.
And the Christmas lights. Not because everything needs to sparkle, but because there's something lovely about a city making an effort to brighten the darkest evenings.
Save me one long walk with no destination. One pastry I definitely didn't need. One tiny table beside a window. And that strange, beautiful feeling of being somewhere far from home and somehow exactly where I want to be.
I don't need the perfect Paris. I don't need every monument, every museum, or every photograph. Just a few hours. A warm coffee. A street worth remembering.
So, dear Paris, keep a little December for me.
I'll bring the scarf. You bring the feeling.
Love,Someone who isn't quite finished with you.
