My ma always told me that I was "free spirited" and "carefree" that nothing but the strength of the "dieux francais" could stop me. She always told me that I had a kind heart. That I could never walk past a weak man and not give them a shoulder to lean on. That I couldn't spend a dime on even an ounce of food and not share with the lone someone whose stomach rumbles and aches every night. She told me that whenever I got hurt I'd always be able to find myself on two feet again. If not then, "C'est la vie" And she was never more right about that. I've always been "reckless" never thinking things through as my papa always tells me. "If you get hurt," he always said "don't come crying to me. C'est La Vie!" But there's no point in sitting there, thinking about things you could've did when you can be up and doing them. Maybe that's how I ended up spending an entire summer with a boy and his ragtag group of friends in France. Maybe that's how I ended up falling in love with him and all that came along. Maybe that's how, when I found out his true intentions, my heart was broken into a million pieces. But hey, C'est La Vie!
7 parts