I never saw the Eiffel Tower or your worn-down cobblestone streets they all rave about. I never ate those pastries or drank the black coffee they all said was to die for. I never stole one of your shirts that I can wear to bed or got your autograph even though they all said that was the best part.
But I fell in love with you. But I fell in love with you. And the stars you never said were out of reach and you and tears you wiped away and you and hearts you sewed together and you and souls you patched up and you.
But Paris, this post never really was about you. It's not about boys or loss, which you should know by now are a favorites of mine. This isn't even about love. This is just a little more about Auburn Crane.
This week Nelson asked us to reveal ourselves. Tell everyone who you are, he said.
But Paris, haven't I done that already?
Maybe you know who I am, I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe you don't know who I am, I wouldn't be surprised. Paris, would you?
Maybe you know me as the girl who dated a red-head for a long long time and wonder if it will ever be over. Maybe you know me as the girl who wears her sweater every Friday and planned Sadies. Or maybe, to you, I'm the girl that tripped on her way into Seminary and you asked if I was ok. I'm the same girl who may or may not be addicted to chocolate, adventures, and One Tree Hill. I have a weird obsession with Maine and fully believe that chocolate chip cookies can solve any problem. Maybe you know me as the girl who finally chopped her hair and looks up to both of her little sisters.
Maybe you still don't know me, maybe you don't really care.
Either way, I'm still me
As Always, Hannah Smith
