Paris is eternal. Indestructible.
It's beautiful, even when it's cold and wet. It's joyous when it's sunny and warm. It shines and sparkles at night, and it holds so much history, so many wonderful stories. And not a few painful memories, which it would rather just forget.
It wakes up every morning and has a beauty and glow to it that is entirely its own. And it draws so many people in, so many dreamers who gaze at it and wonder to themselves: "can I ever have this? Could I ever be part of this?"
It has so many parts, so many neighborhoods and small alleys. So many secrets. So many indiscretions. It is at once delicious and slightly unreachable. It is pretentious and childish, but old and wise.
It is a lot like love.