Hipsters and sisters exploring the wide, open west.
"Have a good rest of your life," he told me as he stepped over the threshold, boarding the Paris-bound charter. "You have to love this because it's so beautiful. What you have here, you have to love it because it's life," he whispered in that softened French that we all have come to recognize and swoon over between Political Science lectures. "The feeling that comes in this house, with all of these people..." he assured me, "It's so special." And so I forced a smile through watering eyes. I scrunched up my nose so tight and told him that I'd miss him and gave him another tight embrace and he told me to stop being a silly American, getting so worked up over something so minute, so daily. The softness of each kiss planted so gently on my warm cheeks, and closed eyes trying to make memories of moments, and down the stairs, and out the door.
Some words just don't translate.
Some words just don't translate.