We were in Paris walking into the Latin Quarter when we stumbled upon an old bookstore. There was a sign stating no pictures, but naturally something this beautiful had to be captured without disturbing anyone around. The old books lined the walls and shelves in a maze that led to the second floor, where this was found at the top of the stairs. Reading these notes felt like seeing fragments of people stuck in time, their thoughts, ideas, and identities frozen here for all to read.
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