”If I’m running out of time, then I’m running out of time.
There’s nothing you can do, to try to pull me through.
Could tie me down with twine. Give me back what’s mine.
I wouldn’t want you to try to pull me through.”
Time has stopped for me in Paris.
It all starts with the Périphérique. The language. The terrible traffic and the big amount of roaring motorcycles, despite de winter. A lot of black people but not necessarily poor, they are just part of the society here. Having a sim card that works, after over 4 months without dialing one single number or receiving any sms. It feels weird.
And so does knowing directions.
I know this city. I’ve been here before. And that’s a feeling I didn’t have in a long time. Red traffic lights don’t exist for pedestrians here. the smelly metro where you can’t always get a ticket so you just hop in with somebody else hoping not to get checked. I guess the police has bigger worries right now…
It all feels the same, as if I had never left. Nothing has changed and yet I look at my reflection in the metro and I look different.
The same man sells avocados on the corner of that street. That street and its cafés. The bakery around the corner. That last street going up. Remembering the access code to my building after 7 months.
To his building.
Fucking selective memory.
My home. His apartment. Our place.
My CDs, lamps. Ismael Serrano and all the memories with Valeria.
My guitar. Some plants half alive. No cat. Somebody else’s mess, or somebody else’s organization. Les régles pour être humain. 12ºC.
I’ve gotten used to this cold and it actually feels warm. My keys.
My winter jacket and boots. This wardrobe full of clothes that I don’t need anymore. But I had to travel to find out.
I had to travel to love all the things I didn’t like of this city.
I love you, grumpy people, grey sky, crowded metro.
The roof. The Sacré Coeur. The light from the Eiffel Tour.
It’s all still here. Who am I? Who was I? What have I become since last time me and Paris were one?
I sit at The Roof, smoke a cigarette and cry my eyes out.
I’m so happy to see you, Paris.
Worth the surprise 
Welcome home … I suspect that this must make you any weird : to find items that we have learned to do without . I think we’re on the same time zone , Fabien my love is near you, it is in Montreuil this weekend . Everything seems more real, as if I had read a tale so for several months and that now you’re in my reality. It is disconcerting but I’m so glad I share all this with you and you came back from your richer périble moments , meetings, and all the strength of these emotions that do not necessarily need words. Hugs
It feels exactly the same for me, almost unreal. The first day I woke up in the apartment I felt like I had had a very long dream, that Eric had just left and I had to go to work. It took me several days to undo my backpack, since it’s the only proof that I’ve been gone. But something that started as a 10 months wait for him to come back, ended up being such a beautiful adventure, and I’m grateful for that. I’m leaving Paris tomorrow and I’ll be back again in less than 3 weeks, to leave my backpack closed for a while, and my spirit open. Thank you for all your comments, I love reading each one of them <3.
:-*
Merci de me donner un avant goût de ce qui m’attend ! 🙂
Oh, if allow myself to borrow a sentence: you ain’t seen nothing yet ;). Have you read the name of this blog? It’s all about surprises 😉