Sunday, December 28, 2014

Age of innocence

Christmas at Henry's sister's, it's his cute idea of a neutral ground. I come unarmed but slightly intoxicated, just enough to get me through the night. In spite of her gray Protestant demeanor she generously makes sure our glasses are never empty (but only drinks red wine herself). Sanguinis Christi.

He gives me a book about Coco Chanel, neatly wrapped in an editorial from Libération. A weaker version of myself would have thought he was trying to tell me something. "That man" he says after dinner, "the one I met this spring. He said 'never get them diamonds'. At first I though he meant girls in general, but now I know he was talking about you".

When we stumble back home together in the clear Parisian winter night he tells me about a friend in Prague that he needs to see for New Year's. He doesn't ask me to go with him and I think I'm relieved. I've been falling down this Boulevard Saint-Germain for too long now, voices are calling me from other places and I've only just begun to listen.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Fairytale of Saint-Denis

For a moment I forget about the walls and the voids between us, alone in a Tuesday frenzy looking for material things to please him with. Paris looks more beautiful than it did when we first came here at the end of the summer - maybe it's the sparkling lights and the generic Christmas music. I'm a child playing too close to the open fire, heartbeats like butterfly wings under silvery skies.

I know I'm buying him too many gifts and I imagine him wearing them when it's just the two of us on Christmas eve: navy shirts from Givenchy and Cavalli, Galliano boxers and more of his Bleu de Chanel - EdP. Maybe he's out doing the same thing for me, picturing me with delicate fabrics and without.

Outside in the swarming crowds, my Russian blood pumping like oil money and I'm slowly getting warmer. It's been cold for too long now and I wish this year had never happened.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Thought of you as everything I've had but couldn't keep

He's in front of the mirror getting ready like it's our first date and we're sixteen dans La Ville-Lumière. I finish his Champagne because he's too busy with his hair and he returns to an empty bottle. "I like you better drunk" he says and slides his hand up my dress, but he does it like a gentleman in cufflinks and a pinstripe suit.

The last days of this year have felt like the end of the world, but I guess they always do. My vision is blurred, I can't imagine anything beyond December but with him there's no immediate need to pretend. Walking these streets in daylight I feel like screaming till the air in my lungs is wasted, but when the sun sets I put on something black and he comes home and we drift away together, even after what he said to me a week or so ago.

I don't drink to forget because there's still too much I want to remember. I drink because the world and this life we're living makes a little bit more sense when spinning itself out of focus before our pale blue eyes.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Art Nouveau and other stories

We started talking again this weekend but not much remains to be said. "What's your New Year's resolution" he asks vapidly, "I've been meaning to pick up smoking myself". I don't have one but I lie and tell him I'm going to write a book. He nods discreetly, right hand firm around a highball glass of Rye Whiskey.

Insomniac nights are becoming a habit, the closest I am to a ritual. I wander these Saint Germain streets long after he falls asleep and far in to the early morning. Last week I met her in the same place at the exact same time from Monday to Friday: the ethereal woman from an Alphonse Mucha poster. Dressed in burgundy and black, she walks lightly as if in a painless dream and leaves traces of l'Air du Temps on the air as she passes by.

I'm back in bed undressed before he wakes up, he asks me if I slept and I tell him that I'm too much in love. I guess it's a little cruel but I just can't help myself.