April 4, 2017

They say when you start having dreams in other languages, you can consider yourself fluent.

I had just arrived in France–me and my young high school graduate self at the time–and my penpal met me at the airport. I wasn’t smart enough to bring a coat, so I froze in the rain until he threw his coat over my shoulders without saying a word, his lingering, phantom warmth surrounding me.

We made our way to the top of the Eiffel tower while I apologized for my bad French. A gray haze shadowed over the whole city but in an eerily beautiful way.

Silence surrounded us.

When I finally tore my eyes away from the mesmerizing horizon, I met his.

“J’aime la vue d’ici.”


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