Olympics.

Tonight, the closing ceremony will play its song over Paris, the magical flying olympic torch outside my window will dim, and the Olympics will be over.

Tomorrow night, I won't see a light show from beach volleyball when the last match finishes.

There will be no cheers out my window from archery, wrestling, or skateboarding.

The scaffolding will unravel itself, the metal barricades will be marched off to a storage depot somewhere far away.

And we - the city, the Parisians who have stuck around, and I - will bask in the afterglow.

I have never experienced anything quite like these Olympics. It hits different than on TV. People run faster than seems possible, javelins fly impossibly far, divers plunge, spinning, splashlessly - and everywhere you turn, there is another person doing something amazing that reminds you - this is who we are, too.

I've lost count of how many times I've cried.

At little things, like the song that's played at the end of every competition. At the highlight film that show before each event. Cried watching people win gold. Cried watching folks come last, still so damn proud of what they've achieved. Plan to bawl my damn eyes out when ceremony plays out tonight.

And to have experienced it here - friend, Paris did it right. The Olympics were literally everywhere. I watched two events just trying to come home with groceries. They filled up grand palaces and convention centers. Parks and sidewalks. Streets and stadiums.

They were part of everyday life. I sat next to Greg Louganis at a random cafe, shared the subway with athlete after athlete, passed coaches and teams walking on the street.

And everywhere you went, everywhere, there was a buzz. People watched random events on their phones waiting in line for takeout. Gathered around bars, peering in to see the end of a Judo match. Couples streamed one sport while in line to get into another.

We - all of us here - collectively gave ourselves over to the thing, let it have its way with us - and it was sublimely, engulfingly wonderful.

And in a few short months - there won't be much of a trace it was ever here. Already the banks of the Seine are open again, the streets opened back up.

All we'll have are photos, and memories. Specific moments we saw or were a part of. And in time, even those details will fade, until years from now, all that's left will be a feeling, a deep smile that we can't quite explain.

Thanks for letting me share some of them with you. They're ours, all of ours, together.

With lots of love, -Steven

p.s. The best thing I saw all week was the 14-year-old music video for a get-the-crowd moving anthem played at most of the events. If you haven't seen the video for Alors on dance, now is the time. (And if, like me, you're not a flawlessly fluent francophile, here's a version with English subtitles to layer in a little more meaning after you've seen it.)

p.p.s. I plan to pull together a full, proper set of photos once I've had time to sleep and process what's felt like the most wonderful, extended surrealist dream. They're coming in a future week. :)

Also, the Paraolympics are starting soon, and you bet your butt I'm going to see some of those events, too!)