It’s painful to admit this, but Paris (and the ensuing trip to Munich) was difficult for us. Or rather, it was difficult for me, and I made it difficult for Rand. (Which was totally unfair, I know. I intend to elaborate on what the heck was up in a later post. Maybe.)
I was in a funk.
Some days were better than others. And some mornings were particularly good. Like the one we spent in a small cafe not far from our hotel.