i came this far for beauty

Every year we travel miles to get here. We travel with the thought of golden sun on our skin, and cheese and wine on our tongues. We come because it's beautiful. Because everywhere you look is picturesque, a painter's dream.

It kills me sometimes. I have to slap myself, stop for a second, and take it all in twice. I'm living the dream. And that's what the summer often feels like, a strange drawn out dream, where real life is put on hold.

Last night we sat under a star lit sky at a local festival. Young hippies sat sprawled out in groups all over the fields, while caravans and stands stayed open late into the night selling hot crepes, sausages and escargot. We made our way into a giant circus tent, where a band filled the air with a heavy beat, and young kids flung their bodies around like they were boneless.

The festival smells of weed and wine, but reeks of good living.

Last year I had this festival as my thought of happiness. I have always felt liberated and at ease there, happy to be alive.

Last night was mixed emotions. Whiskey and the presence of a distant body I was once so close to had me on uppers and downers.

But it's more than that. My time here is ending, and I'm too aware of it. I don't know what to make of it, how to say goodbye, how to create the right closures. I don't know how to tell all the people here how much they inspire me. How happy I've been. How I wish I could get to know them better, but that these summers are always fleeting.

I tasted my last Castelnau market today, as well as my last thin crust, oven made pizza, from one of the most charming salesmen I've yet to meet. I received my first discount as a sweet aurevoire.

I'm feeling torn in every direction. Monday night, I'll get on a train, and I'll move right into the next scene of my life. Paris. Everything I presently know will change.

It's too hot to think. But I think, I think, I think it will be good.