(and all the tiny things that bring it back to me) Dear Paris, I know it’s a little cliché to love you — but I do. I really, really do. I love you in the way you love something you’ve romanticized from afar, thinking maybe you’re being unrealistic, only to arrive and realize you weren’t wrong. You are that good. It’s not just the Eiffel Tower (though yes, it really does sparkle), or the croissants (which are somehow both flakier and more comforting than anything I’ve had at home). It’s the atmosphere — the mood — the way you make everyday things feel elevated. Intentional. Worth lingering over. People in…