In the early mornings, when most of the city is still asleep, I wander around Saint Germain and relish the air like a selfish lover. This is where I feel most alive, most like myself and most like I belong exactly how I am. I tell myself that my world is real, and my thoughts are worth noticing. And it’s just me, my thoughts, the new day, and my city. Maybe this is at the root of my singular obsession with Paris, that it has very little to do with the city itself but with myself, and how I feel about me when I am here. Or maybe its impossible not to love a place this beautiful.