The drop of milk in the coffee. The cello strings of a street melody. The dry gouache on a street bench. The warm smell steaming out of a boulangerie every morning. The raindrops on a métro window. There are a lot of things in life that you can do without. In Paris, art is not one of them.
As you make your way from the Marseillais sun lights to the Parisienne rainy night lights, a mélange of cultures wraps its arms around you. Roaming around Paris makes you get lost in the 17th century with your fanciest attire. The Parisienne attitude never hesitates to seduce you with all its vulgarity, yet all artsy and elegant. It gets you drunk over a bottle of wine, with a highly sophisticated language of a pair of lips covered in sensually red lipstick.
As free as a pigeon under the Eiffel Tower, as joyful as singing under the rain of Champs-Élysées, or as inspiring as the night when you lay down by the River Seine accompanied by a half pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Merlot. Dear Paris, shout at my face with your beautiful voice, undress my soul, make me dance on the tip of my toes. Let your lovely mystery fall on me like an avalanche. I promise I will survive. Be my perfect intoxication, I promise I won’t remember tomorrow.
While the guns are out, Paris means singing out loud. While the heart aches in pain, Paris is the smile on the face. And you are Paris when you answer hatred with heaps of peace. Let your pen be the sword, and roses be the anchor. Tomorrow is as bright as a shining star in the darkness of today.
“Chaque fois que j’entends ton nom, je suis au septième ciel. Pour te faire voler jusqu’à moi, je voudrais te donner mes ailes”
August, 5, 2010