The Paris Connection

If I have to make an evaluation of my last stay in Paris, I have a deep feeling that I would be talking mostly of a special stay. There are minor details, such as the weather, to contemplate as having been particularly annoying. I even started on the wrong foot, falling ill almost a week after my arrival. Second, I came upon the unwanted need to close a story that was playing only in my mind, as a way of facing the daily struggle of waking up and finding that the only challenge to surmount was getting to the office. On that note, there is no argument that my first two weeks were certainly not very optimistic.

However, December brought interesting additions to the monotonous Parisian landscape. If a story closed, another one opened, or did it? I would say that it found an exit that was inevitable and known to both partners involved. Then, surprisingly, just when I was tripping over old memories filled with warmth but framed within the confines of delusional fantasy, the miracle happened. The connection was there, becoming palpable in front of my aroused senses. The flow was started, it felt nice and odd, just like it was meant to be. No words can express the pure feeling of bliss, so I am at a loss in any language. Letting it be was not a choice. It was written on the cards.