The streets are alive,
breathing in the energy of leisurely strolls and hurried trots.
Cobblestone cracks filled with old cigarette butts,
wobble under my feet.
Ancient facades loom up above,
well worn bricks hiding secrets and sophistication.

The metro whips past,
we all rush on.
Packed in close together, strangers
all headed to a different destination,
a different destiny.

The warm scent of freshly baked baguettes
entices me and draws me in to the bakery.
The harsh sound of hurried french fills my ears.
“Bonjour, une baguette s'il vous plaît”
A snarky look is the only reply.

American
seems to be written across my chest
like an old name tag sticker that you forgot you had on,
peeling away at the corners.
I don’t mind though, because today
I am a tourist,
a traveler,
lost in the wonder and glamor
of Paris.