flying back from paris, salty pretzels and sleeping bodies. paris was interesting. i don't know if i would describe it as beautiful. maybe surprising. flowers in small parks, antiques sold on the side of the street, a shirtless break dancer under the eiffel tower. yellow leaves, and the scent of winter. running down the street to warm ourselves, stamping our feet like horses. light reflecting over the seine. bernard's house, the creaky wooden floors, bathroom the size of one body. we slept two on a futon, one on the floor.
we flew into lille, the northern border of france, ate wraps and espressos, got on a free bus full of students. one got a nose bleed outside, drops of blood on the pavement. i got a window seat, two hours of fields, french fog. watched ice age in french and stared out the window. fog so white, it looked like snow. the cold caught us by surprise, bursts of breath steaming, mikaela glad for her last minute jacket, nicole and i wrapping our scarves around our heads like hats. another bus from beauvois, double decker after lines in the cold, a cappuccino from a machine. top, front row. a man with a moustache slept next to me, folded like a frog. he read his poetry, breathed deeply. i felt dizzy from being so high up.
we entered paris by mall, surrounded by the gap and american coffees.
and then, paris: bakeries with crazy colors, men dressed better than women. women, beautiful, bare faces and curly hair, they look so free. red lips. walking, walking, walking. bernard bought five kilos of mandarins, peeled them perfectly. bad starbucks (never thought i wouldn't like it). the market. the sound of french, strange and captivating, better than music. i could listen to it for hours. walking, and thinking how much i'd like to see a familiar face, then running into a friend from high school. smiling for hours after.
samples of chocolate from a free fair, lunch of cheese and baguette, kids playing in the park. the little girl on the metro flirted with us. the eiffel tower show at night, brighter than stars, made the moon look small, worthless. we asked, which is better? i answered, the tower dominates, but the moon is my favorite. steady, not built for a world fair. not built for anyone.
bernard jokes, we laughed, he peeled his mandarins and smiled, straight teeth, asking, why do you make me say stupid things?
monmarte in the morning, so white, so full, devoted sunday morning and mulled wine. more croissants. the band outside of the opera. rolling in the grass outside the lourve. thinking, am i really in france?
and then, we were back. the campo sounded so familiar! today i went on a run, and i ran to the pace of repeating words, rome home, rome home, rome home. my feet moved one after the other.
and today people kept asking me, how was paris? i respond differently, or not at all. for some reason, i can't think of paris and sentences in the same thought. i lack structure, can only get out these quick glimpses and phrases. europe is becoming a sea of pretty buildings, memories that blur. i'm preparing myself to come home, i think. i keep imagining all the normalcies of life, or the things people will say to me when i get back. i wonder how it will be different when i come back, and i wonder how i am different, if i am. i wonder if people can change, if people do change, if people want to change. and at the same time, i remind myself constantly, EMBRACE! embrace this life, this sunshine, these feet in a different location! and in this way, i keep rooted, keep enjoying.
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