I spent the mid-afternoon sitting on a dewy bench facing an empty quad in the chilly weather that is mid-September. I couldn't tell whether I was feeling serene or lonely but at this point it's always hard to tell. I sat in a strange little haze chainsmoking Menthols because my pack of Reds ran dry, listening to Lizst's La Campanella, and found company in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. I imagined the beauty of the Parisian scenery, I wanted to travel far, far away so I could gaze at beautiful streets and beautiful people instead of gray skies and dreary brick buildings. I reluctantly came to the realization that there is nothing holding me back, but there is nothing pushing me forward.