I could really go for some of this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And definitely one of these:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not sure why I’m torturing myself in such a ruthless way, but I am. And the thing of it all is, I know.

I know I could go get some Nutella. Granted, I think it tastes better in France (what doesn’t?), but I could handle some Amerique Nutella.

But the crepe part? Yeah, not going to happen. ‘Cause no one does crepes like the people who invented them.

In the meantime, I can dream of when and where I shall eat my next one. Perhaps I’ll be back in Paris, along Boulevard St Germain. Or maybe Nice, as I stroll down Promenade des Anglais.

Or what about Gordes, or some other smaller, Provencal town.

Or it just might be somewhere I’m not even aware of. Don’t even know it exists.

The thought of that utterly thrills me.

All these future places I’ll find myself in. The stories that will be told. The connections that will be made.

Of people and places I have yet to meet, who are somehow waiting for me. And I, them.