Forget New York as the city that never sleeps, Paris is the place to be at night. The metro is buzzing at midnight with people travelling home from work, the tramlines work with a steady efficiency, never running late and never delayed en route.
I took the metro last night by myself to see the sites at night. I ended up watching the lit up eiffel tower with a bottle of wine and only myself as company. It was a risk worth taking and I returned to the hotel unscathed.
Who is this renewed person I see in the mirror, full of body confidence and bursting with passion? It most certainly is not me. I see glimpses of the shy girl I once was and will be again but Paris has rubbed off some of its charm onto me which I intend to sneak back on the plane to England. It is temporary, a holiday high that has me feeling this way but oh so I wish I could bring it with me.
I know my wanderlust is insatiable. Even more so now that I have been to the city of love and felt its warm embrace washing over me like silk sheets. Taking my first step off the plane in England will not only be devastating but I know I will slip into routine like an old familiar glove.
There is a chance that this feeling is all alcohol induced. This high is nothing but liquid confidence letting me soar. I desperately hope that this is not the case as I have fallen in love with the city that never sleeps and have left pieces of my heart all over Paris.
If you ever get the chance to go to Paris please take me back with you. The romance, the energy and the shopping are all to die for and I would happily take the blade for another chance to see this wonderful city again.