It was him who gave me this book. Paris. He knows how I feel about Her. Looking at his eyes I sadly understood that this gift was only a gentle gesture towards that love that he will never support. I understood that eventually I would have to choose between him and Her. Irreconcilable differences keep them apart from one another. He thinks She is dirty, dangerous and without great beauty. Overrated and a thief, She abuses the innocents who come to Her looking to fulfil a dream and She pays them back with a treason. So unpleasant She is, that not even the ocean would like to be next to Her.
And I got trapped in all that hate. With all that love stuck in the chest. Because despite Her bad reputation, I can only see Her lights, and her autumnal rows, and Her smoky cafes. Everyone says it, except for him: ‘Paris d’amour’ And there is where I want to be, and live, and write. Like all the Masters whom she wrapped in her arms, to allow them to create their masterpieces. And I dream about Her, all the time I dream about Her, and the more I dream, the more he pulls my arm, to wake me up, and widely open my eyes, and come back to my reality, that is also beautiful and safe, like a wool blanket and a hot chocolate cup. And She pulls me from my other arm, and I feel Her wild and uncertain, and she wants me to get into Her indomitable sphere, in which I will be able to exist, or expire.
3 thoughts on “Paris d’Amour”
Is this book written in English?
Hi Cherry blossom, no it is written in French. Maybe if you look the author you can see if there is a translation into English? 🙂
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Okay.. Thank you 🙂