The thing about Paris is that it’s seductive. It’s not the men or the dates or even the perfect kisses that have the power to seduce you, as Poppy would have me believe. No, It’s the city itself—the quaint alleyways, the picturesque bridges, the perfectly manicured gardens, the rainbow of flowers that bloom everywhere in graceful harmony in the springtime. It’s the way the sparkling lights dangle over the city like someone placed them there by hand, the way the Seine ripples softly like a supple blanket stretched between the banks. It’s the hidden cafés, the tiny, self-righteous dogs, and the cobblestone streets where you least expect them. It’s the bright green of the grass, the deep blue of the sky, the blinding white of the Sacré-Cœur.
It is perfection. And in perfection, there is seduction. Because maybe if you stay long enough in a city that’s so perfect, you’ll find perfection in your own life, too.