12 June, 2011


My parents and little brother are in Paris. I am possibly the most jealous person alive. Imagine all the inspiration over there. I miss Paris. Here is a journal entry that I wrote following my first trip there - about 4 years ago...
"Though it was dark and grey, she felt fully alive; as if the sky was shining down clear, vibrant light mixed with crystal raindrops. Not a threatening sky at all, that which hung over the dull but dynamic city, trimmed in gold and boasting the salmon-bronze peak of le tour eiffel. 

They had just arrived, she and the others, their stomachs bubbling with anticipation. A walk was suggested, the rain had abated. 
A walk? Boring. 
Well, why not? 
Don't bother. 
She grabbed one, practical as ever. 

Limbs fizzing with energy, they made their way down the sidewalk. Grey, of course. There was uniformity, if nothing. The crystals made a showy, over-the-top reappearance. Half remained, blanketed by practicality and a hardly useful green canopy. The rest fled. 

Found themselves in a park. 
We are adults now, parent-less in a foreign country. 
Slipped and slid and shouted and giggled anyway. 

Soaked to the bone, hair slicked, cheeks chilled, fingers trembling. 

Nous sommes à Paris!"


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