In love with art? Not quite.

"It's the city of love. I want you to find something-anything- to fall in love with. Now go!" James shouted at us tired bunch of kids. After a mere 4 hours of sleep and a train ride from London, our bus was pulling up to the Louvre in Paris. With my eyes half shut and my stomach growling, the last thing I was thinking about was love. But then again, they say you don't quite prepare for it.

I was expecting that something in the Louvre would inspire me. I thought that since it was supposed to be such a great museum, I would suddenly have a passion for art because it was so beautiful. But no, the most interesting thing I saw was the ceiling and walls of the building...they were well built and pretty to look at. Still though, I waited in line to take a photo of the undersized Mona Lisa and posed beside the armless Athena. My question when wandering through the many halls was why the stuff there posed to be any more special than anyone else's art. I still don't understand who decides what art is good or not, because if I were the one picking, my museum would be a bit different than that one. So obviously I didn't fall in love with the art. Oddly enough, I fell for something- or rather someone- impermanently in the museum. It was the clothing that made me look, the eyes that kept my attention, and the smile that made me fall. It was the first young, very attractive Italian man I have ever seen. He wore a white polo shirt tucked under a blue and green v-neck Lacoste pullover. To match, he had white shorts and shoes. He bumped into me while in the mess of tourists trying to get a photo of the Mona Lisa. I looked, and then he looked. And he smiled and opened his mouth, but was troubled by what language to speak in. So after letting him struggle for a few seconds while I stared, I smiled back and said quietly "It's okay." That ended his pain as he mumbled out "I, I am so sorry, miss." Again I repeated, "It's okay." We both turned back to the painting and lifted our cameras to snatch photos. It was only seconds, but felt like forever. I couldn't wait to boast to the bus about my first love in Paris.