I'm not sure when or how it started.
It might have been when I was two, and watched Beauty and the Beast for the first time.
It might have been when I was three, and started ballet.
It might have been when I was five, and started learning the French language.
It might have been when I was eight, and my grandad would tell me stories about his experiences in the smallest towns and villages there.
It might have been when I was eleven, and had to research the history of the country for a homework assignment.
I can't pinpoint the exact time. I don't think there was ever a "moment" where I just decided it had to be. It's probably something that's always been with me, like my stubbornly frizzy hair or multi-coloured eyes. Because, truthfully, for as long as I can remember, Paris has been the biggest mystery for me.
I've never visited Paris, which is bordering on criminal seeing as it would take approximately three hours to get there from my house. My sister has been, and enthralled me with her tales of the majestic Happy Meals they serve up at the closest McDonald's to the Louvre.
I have big ambitions in life, and have a list of five cities that I would kill to live in, in addition to a list of ideal holiday destinations that is growing by the day.
I will get to Paris one day soon. Life has happened, and I'll probably never live there. But I know that I will spend a sizeable chunk of time there. I just haven't figured out when.
So, until then, I will continue to stare at photos of the Eiffel Tower. I will continue to take Google StreetView tours of the City of Love. I will continue dreaming.
Because, if we don't dream... What's the point of life?