Paris est une Affaire, pas une Rêve


I am back, but it feels as if I have never left

Every step I take towards you

I sink myself into this bittersweet of guilty pleasure


The beaming morning light pour into the flight cabins

We look like as if we need another round of endless sleep

I saw the reflection of myself in the window

All I read was more joy and impatience

As if I am going home

Somebody used to tell me that it is the journey that matter and not the destination, but this does not seem to be the case for me this time. It was exactly the destination that kept me alive and smiled at the person at the boarder custom even when he messed up my nationality, again.

When Paris was not tangible, I munched on countless of photos and memories of laughter and tears together. I felt great most of the time, but I fell into pieces sometimes when the magic didn’t work. None of these wonderful collections of Paris gave me such feeling of breathlessness when my flight was approaching the European continent. The distress that occupied my mind just several hours ago evaporated with a snap of the fingertips, and the magic is exactly, the surreal reality of being so close to Paris.

The chilly cold air outside the airport immediately captured the top of my throat and I almost chocked, but instead I opened the top bottom of my coat and breath in all the particular greetings from Paris. I drew a map of Paris in my head and kept it as the cover of my book so I don’t ever have to find it when I need it. First step into the OrlyBus, everything felt so natural and familiar. I can identify almost every street sign that I have left traces of my stories, and cross roads without thinking twice.


            It feels as if I have never left, and the truth is, my heart has stayed in this wonderful city when I stepped onto a plane during the high of summer. My addictive imaginings keep my delusional wishes to reunite my heart and body alive, and as cliché as it is I am made believed that I can only do so by following my heart.

I woke up to the violet mist at the end of Rue de Grenelle, and the morning haze swarmed into the room when I opened the balcony door that I often dreamt about. I stood at the balcony watched the first sunrise that dragged me out of my delusional thought of being somewhere else but Paris. It was more beautiful than any other sunrise that I have had imagined. I stood at the petit balcony, and indulged myself with the incredible view listening to the sizzling whisper of my warm cup of café allongé. The morning smell of Paris is exactly l’air du café, and all it was missing was the fine bouquet of cigarette.


You can find my obsession with her ridiculous

You can even say that it is a fruitless affair

Just throw yourself into this affair

And you will know that it is more real than anything

What do you have to offer to keep me with you? Exactly, just you and yourself.


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