Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Running up that hill

The heat wave in June made me want to leave Paris for good but now that it's cooler I might just stay a little while longer. I rarely leave the room before 6 PM anyway, if I ever eat breakfast in the restaurant it's because I'm still awake from the night before.

I'm out Monday, somewhere in Marais north of Rue Étienne Marcel. The bar is closing when a man tries to talk to me, first in French, then in a broken English that suggests he's from southern Spain. He gets increasingly intrusive as I ignore him and ends up rhetorically asking how a chatte like me sleeps at night. I want to say "Diazepam" but I guess it's wasted on him.

Henry's shadow still chases me across the boulevards in Saint-Germain. I don't know that he's actually here but I keep feeling his presence like an electric chock through my every bone. Maybe it's just phantom pains from an amputated part of the soul, or maybe he's out there looking for me too.



7 comments:

  1. I keep falling madly in love with your writing style... even when I drop off the grid in terms of reading, your blog always pulls me back.

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  2. Summer, and the world burns with Paris.

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  3. spoiler: the man at the bar was Nadal, still nursing that Wimbledon upset.

    welcome back, beautiful, you were missed!

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  4. Dude in the bar deserved a fist to the face....

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  5. you are worth everything love. I've missed reading you. I hope you are in clear and peacful place of mind. take care of yourself and keep living your life like the beautiful story it is

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  6. I think when we feel like someone is close, they're probably seeking us too.

    Is there a harm in going back to where it all began?
    xx

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