It was my first real solo trip, a trip that was turning my insides upside down due to the fact I had never flown alone before. I packed light but brought the essentials: a notebook, a camera, and a playlist filled with the songs that made me feel something. “Paris” by The 1975 was track one.
The train ride back to Rennes was quiet in that special way only French trains can be. The majority of Amtrak trains I have taken up to New Jersey have consisted of people yapping away on the phone or blaring TikTok out loud from the speakers of their cellular devices.
I had just left Paris behind. Memories of the city were still buzzing somewhere in my brain. I didn’t expect to fall for it the way you did. Maybe it was the way everything felt alive at once: the sound of jazz echoing off old buildings, artists painting strangers in a park, the Eiffel Tower sparkling at night.
I found my seat by the window, put my AirPods in, and hit play on the song I had saved for the ride back: “Paris” by The 1975.
“And how I’d love to go to Paris again (again, again, again and again)“
It was not about the lyrics, not exactly. It was the feeling: that mix of nostalgia and a little sadness, and the quiet joy of realizing I was in a moment I would remember forever.
The sun was starting to set outside the window, casting gold across the French countryside. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the song wash over me. It felt like a soundtrack written just for that scene. I was playing the soundtrack to a new chapter of my life, carrying with me a little more love — the kind I had unbeknowingly gathered from the City of Love.
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