02/08/2025
An excerpt from my journal…
To say Paris feels like going home is to admit that home was never a fixed place. Home as I’ve come to understand it, is a kind of recognition. A sense of memory. A knowing without evidence. A place that reflects something back to you that you didn’t know was missing. When I walked through Paris, I am walking beside some quieter version of myself – one less performed, one not trying so hard to belong. The city does not demand that I justify my presence. It assumes I am already supposed to be here. And so I am…