Now I know what I’ll write here for whoever stumbles across this page. I’m sorry for those of you who expected something more newsworthy from a journalist; my analysis of local politicians, my thoughts on the continuing violence and rape against women, my critique of mainstream news reports; I have thoughts on all of the above, but this will be about something a little closer to my heart, something human, something sad, and something that you can relate to without up-to-date reports from The New York Times and the local daily.

He was my France. He was unique, a change of pace, exciting but oh-so traditional. What would make a perfect postcard however — like snowflakes in falling into La Seine — is sometimes a bit slushy when you arrive and you adjust to the jet lag well enough to notice.

I’ve adjusted to the jet lag and suddenly realized that not only is the snow slushy, but also that just as France doesn’t miss a tourist when she leaves, he won’t miss me. Which is why I’m leaving him.