It was their fifth day in Paris, France. Her whole life she had dreamed of this place, dreamed of one day meeting its grounds firmly with her feet instead of drifting by on means made solely of day dreams. Paris was her one true love, its culture inspired her, its stories intrigued her, its history amazed her, its architecture dazzled her. France to her had always been a dream that kind of dream where you’re running as fast as you can but you can never seem to run fast enough, and it always seemed you were never truly moving; she never really understood her fascination with the French. In middle and high school, she had studied the language, doing her best to perfect every syllable of it that flowed from her mouth; she worked tirelessly to know it as well as the school system could offer it. Paris was the place dreams started, for her, and she believed it’s was where they would end.

When they arrived five days prior, she could not believe it; it all seemed unreal like she had floated away from reality again into the abyss that was her daydreams. Surrounded by the sounds of the French language and the French culture, immediately, she felt overwhelmingly joyful. Every moment in her life had led her here to this one, to this instant, where destiny would knock so loudly she could not, even if sanity took over her mind and made her want to, ignore it. She could not take in enough of the air, of the atmosphere; she drew deep breaths savoring each one, for its delightful splendor she would indulge in each time. Each moment passed far too quickly for her here in this place. She longed to stop the proverbial clock, longed to make each moment the best it could be.

Now, though, those feelings still remained as she stood in front of the magnificent Eiffel Tower. She slowly allowed her eyes to follow it up, once more, as they had hours before when they first beheld its image. She was taken aback by its brilliance, she had witnessed nothing to its magnitude before in her life, this, the Eiffel Tower, was the true only love of her life. Its beauty was promising and its stature daring; no other means of architecture dare rival its perfection. As she stood dumbfounded with her eyes on the top of the Tower, memorized by the way it looked pressed against the late evening sky, he was standing with his eyes on her. He was mesmerized, not by Paris or its architecture (although he did find these things interesting), but by her. Her infatuation with such a simple place fascinated him. How was this city any different from any other he would take her to visit? He longed to know but the more he watched her over the week they had been here the more he realized he would never understand; that was just the way it was. This place was like a refuge for her, a calamity in the storm raging called life. He was glad that this had been his choice; he had considered Germany, the English Isles, Spain, Switzerland, even, but when it came down to it he knew this was the place she belonged.

They had just finished there descent from the top of the tower and had made their way out in front of the tower. He laughed and turned to her; taking her hands he pulled her to face him. He paled in comparison to the Eiffel Tower, he knew, but this was important. He raised one hand to remove a rogue piece of hair from in front of her face, then took her hand again, “Girl, can I tell you a wonderful thing?”

She giggled, he had done this all week and this time he wouldn’t fool her. Their first day in Paris they had gone to the Notre Dame cathedral, he had said the same thing there as would the next two days where they would spend time wandering through the Louvre. Art was one of her favorites and to see a part of da Vinci’s heart (as she had called it) in person had filled her own heart with a strong sense of accomplishment. On the fourth day, the day before, he had taken her to see Versailles’s gardens. She felt as if heaven had graced her with its presents here on earth, or maybe she had died and gone there, either way it was absolutely stupendous. It was there, she was sure he would finish his statement with more than “… you’re in Paris.” But he had not, and alas she had lost the newly found hope of why he would have brought her across the Ocean into the City of Love.

“I’m in Paris, love? Yes, I see. C’est extraordinaire! Merci! Merci beacoup!” He smiled, his plan had worked. He continued, “Yes, Darling, you are in Paris. I had something to add to that today though, what was it? Ahhhh… yes!” He paused, allowing the moment to set in but not letting it pass or her to ask questions. When the curiosity filled her eyes he went on, “Girl, can I tell you a wonderful thing? I made you a present with paper and string. Open with care…” He got down on one knee and reached into his pocket, “I’m asking you, please you know that I love you! Will you marry me?” Finishing the quote from her favorite song, he pulled from his pocket a diamond ring with a piece of brown, old packaging string looped through it with a small tag that read “Je t’aime de tout mon Coeur!!” attached. He held it up to her as he saw the tears begin to stream down her face. He debated his next move. She was a fragile being, at the point of shattering within any moment and he was afraid his confession of loving her would be enough to do that. In the almost four years they had been dating, neither one of them said those three words; those words scared her and he was not willing to lose her.

She fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, “Oui! Oui! Oui! Oui!” She repeated in his ear, the tears streaming down her face! It seemed it took all her strength moments later to pull away and look him in the eyes, “Tu es parfait, tu sais?” and with that she slid the ring, string detached, onto her finger and whispeared, “I love you too,” into his ear. He then realized that life was full of beautiful spontaneous moments that would change the world forever. She had said I loved you and he had been on the receiving end. He wrapped his arms tight around her, fearing the moment would fleet too soon. Tears began to roll from his eyes as he realized he honestly wanted to spend his life loving this girl. And the idea that she might want to do the same with him overwhelmed his heart with bliss.
This is what I was made to do, love you. He thought this to himself as they began to walk back to the little café near where they were staying. I was made to put your brokenness back together, so that one day we might call it a heart again. This city the world calls Paris has change us, both. And I am glad. These were the thoughts, the memories that filled his mind and made him smile for the years to pass.