I’ll wake up in my own bed. B might be at my feet. There’s bound to be a cat or two snuggled up next to me. And The BF, least I forget him.

Life continues on as it has before, as though I never even left. Did this month happen? That’s what I’ll be questioning. Was I ever here at 93 Boulevard Raspail, was it real?

One day I’m in Paris, the next Ohio.

Hmmm … Ohio doesn’t sound nearly as glamorous as Paris, but then again, what does? Not much, in my mind. But, I am a little biased. And I’m not trying to diss on Ohio or anything, because it’s a pretty darn cool place {really, I’m not just saying that}.

But … It’s hard to think about leaving. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it … I still have six days {I’m including today}. More bridges to walk, cafés to sit at, watching the world go by. Art and crépes and gardens galore.

And returning home, I’m excited. Excited to see The BF and my friends. I don’t think I’ve mentioned lately how amazing my friends are. How downright fabulous they’ve been when I put out the SOS about my iphone. They answered the call, no pun intended.

Thank you, friends. I adore you.

I spent my late afternoon back at Père Lachaise today. How I could traipse around there for hours! It’s probably a good thing I was under time constraints — I arrived at 16:45, and they close at 18:00.

Unlike last year, I took time this year to really check out the graves, to allow myself to get lost in the maze that becomes tombs and cobblestones. Struggling at times to keep my balance … the whole time wondering about all these souls here, and their families and loved ones … stories {the unknown ones, too}  — they get me every damn time.

I made sure to hit up Jim Morrison, to give a shout out, and was highly disappointed. You can’t even get to his grave now! They have it blocked off. I’m glad the other times I’ve been, I actually have pictures of me next to it. Oh, the good ‘ol days.

Lastly, I hit up Oscar Wilde. Found at the last minute, right as the clock struck 17:45 and the bells began ringing … a little reminder to start getting the hell out of there. I stood, debating to go right and cut through tombstones, or go straight, when I heard a voice ask me if I was lost {en français}.

Maybe.

A very charming and helpful old man told me which way to go and that I was lucky to make it there with not much time to spare. He gave me quick directions and I was on my way, but not before he shared a few parting words, that made me stop in my tracks :

“Enjoy your life. Have fun.”

The second time I came to Paris, I was 16, on a school trip. I got lost with a good friend and a wonderful man helped us. His last words he said were exactly the same. I always believed that he was one of my people, an angel so to speak, there to help us.

I couldn’t think of anything better to say this afternoon than, “merci”, wishing the same for him, as well … making it as heartfelt as possible while my mind raced with remembrance.

When I walked the thirty feet before rounding the corner, I turned around to look back, give a little wave, but he was gone.

How was it possible that he could have left that quickly, at his age? I’ve gone over this all night. I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the métro ride home. I mean, come on, what stranger tells you to enjoy life and have fun? I need to meet more people like that!

I want to believe this was one of my people … or one of my people’s people … sending their people to me, to say hi, to remind me that I have to enjoy my life and above all, have some fun.

Thanks, People. Duly noted.