Dear Eiffel Tower,
The night was pitch black the first time we met. I had waited for this moment for what felt like a lifetime, but as I stood there, staring up at you, an unsettling realization crept in. My inner twelve-year-old—the one who had spent years dreaming of this encounter—was on the verge of devastation and about to throw a massive fit.
Yes, you were tall. Yes, you were sparkling with all those lights, just as I had imagined. But where was the magic? Where was the breath-stealing, heart-racing, life-altering moment I had been promised by books, by films, by love stories whispered through time? You were beautiful, but you didn’t move me. And that, more than anything, was unbearable. I wanted more from you. I expected more.
