a promising Parisian morning.
a comfortable coffee house.
a boy holding open the door despite my insistence for him to go first.
his somewhat playful question accompanied with a scampish smile,
"Are chivalry and strong, female independence unable to coexist?"

no, he didn't offer to buy my drink.
instead, he offered to share a table with me.
he didn't ask for my number.
instead, he asked me what I loved most about Paris.
he didn't ask me to dinner.
instead, he offered to show me the true jewels of the city,
the jewels that couldn't be found in the tourist pamphlets.

I didn't fall for him.
falling implies it was like a wildfire,
expeditiously fast and fervent.

no, this was different.
this happened slowly and surely.
we weren't a beautiful flower
growing.
we were a mighty oak
destined to live for eons.

I noticed his kindness before I noticed how the green in his eyes
matched the trees surrounding the Eiffel Tower.
I noticed his immaculate intelligence before I noticed how his hands
fit so perfectly within my own.

we eventually had to part ways.
despite my affirmation that Paris had become home,
I needed to return to my own country.
but I left a part of me in that city.

as I boarded the plane,
I realized that, for me,
home had become a person
and not a place.