The Girl in Paris

I think some of the best writing--venting is done when you're in an uncomfortable situation and or mood and when you let someone in, a complete stranger, without holding back. Most of my posts have been comical at most and have shown a certain side. Below is something I put together when I wasn't feeling like the jovial-sarcastic-girl I usually tend to be, because at that moment, I wasn't.

One of the weird things about a picture is that it can make time stand still, looking at a sketch, a polaroid, a Facebook photo, you're directly taken back to that exact moment, you remember your surroundings, you remember what you were wearing, eating, drinking, who you were with. What I haven't realized until now is that you also morph into that person again, you have their feelings, you take on that mold. "The girl in paris", the sketch I had drawn 4 years ago, is starring at me dead in the eye. As Im searching for clarity on anything Im dealing with, i find myself remembering certain aspects and time periods of my life. I can remember getting the picture drawn, spectators left and right watching the artist draw, i remember loving the attention and craving it. I was full of myself, I was open minded, I was in Paris. That girl 4 years ago traveled europe with her best friend and  uncle. She seemed fearless, eager, enthusiastic. Her head wasn't completely on her shoulders, but it was centered. She did her own thing, listened to only herself, and was bossy. She was happy, but she wanted more. He was there, but wasn't there, I cant pinpoint it, but i know I wasn't thinking of him, I know that I was enjoying the moments. She was running the streets with two dutch guys, singing karaoke in a corner bar, pretending brown eyed girl was created for her and trying to sneak into the hotel at 5 in the morning without her uncle catching her. She woke up with the eiffel tower in view, with  a hangover but wanting to keep going. The girl in paris, had a short strapless blue flowered dress, flats, hair over her shoulder, the girl in paris was raw, but she was free.

Clarity?

Is there ever a time, pinpoint, area, that everything seems natural, everything seems to fall into place, both socks always match, the milk never expires,  and hair ties loop three times without breaking?