à la maison pour l'été

I landed in Paris yesterday. I was welcomed by a struggle to find my keys to the Airbnb, resulting in a wait for the host to make a quick delivery. The golden chunky keys jingled in my hands as I climbed the flights of stairs, checked bag in hand and heavy breaths in the air. I reached my landing, and there stood two grand turquoise doors; using the century-old key to open the double doors. As if I was starring in an early 2000s coming-of-age story, the door flung open, and there was the apartment for a summer in Paris. All to myself until the arrival of my best friends in a few days, but I don’t mind time alone. I made my way into the apartment, running for the French windows overlooking the street and thinking of how lucky I am to be here, in Paris, in this apartment, this life. The blue skies, the tree-lined streets evidence of summer presence, the gold light from the sun shining over the buildings across, creaky wood floors holding the steps of centuries before, a red leather couch, chipped crown molding along the ceiling edge. An apartment that holds the desires, dreams and memories of those prior and will hold the secrets and excitements of our summer abroad.