Paris Dans Mon Cœur

As I sit on the train about to leave my beloved city of Paris, I realize that I need to learn to say goodbye. It is the most difficult word for me to say and truly mean. When joy enters my life, in whatever form, I have a hard time letting go. For I’m old enough to know that joy is too rare, too fleeting, so I try to hold onto it as long as I can. But more often than not it’s futile.

My short time in Paris was so very healing, and now I must say goodbye. Pour maintenant, au moins.

Yesterday afternoon I cried. I had to say goodbye to three friends I hadn’t seen in 4 years. We do stay relatively in touch via social networks, but it is sporadic at best, as our lives are so very separate. Still, they remain special to me, and it was lovely to discover that I remain special to them, too.

One of the men was once a lover, very short lived. And for the first time in five years we spoke of it. In fact, we got along so well that we talked and laughed and drank and shared for eight wonderful hours. We spoke of writing and life and love and sex and relationships. It was one of the best evenings of my life. Truly lovely, and I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to hold onto that feeling of acceptance and joy. But it did end, as it always must.

Still, I hold that evening in my heart and the things I learned about my former lover, as well as the things I learned about myself. I also hold the night we shared five years ago in my heart, and now in a more positive, loving way than before. He gave me a great gift by talking with me and opening up, expressing how he felt then and how he feels now. Yes, a great gift indeed.

So, as the train barrels towards Caen to meet another dear friend who I haven’t seen in four years, I leave Paris behind for now. But Paris stays with me wherever I go. From the friends I’ve made to the fantasies created.

With every step around that magnificent city my current beloved was with me. Although he is in another country and our relationship is in such a state of flux I don’t know how it will turn out, for now he remains deep in my heart. As I traveled around the city, I remembered how he texted me from Paris telling me how he only had eyes for me. I remembered how we dreamed of what could be. I remembered how our growing desire felt as if would consume us, and we just didn’t care. I remembered the hopeful love I felt for him then, and it poignantly mixed with the deep, yet uncertain, love I feel for him now.

When I walked in the rain on the grey streets of Paris, he was with me. Although alone, I kissed him beneath the Eiffel Tower. I bought a chocolate/vanilla twist ice cream, and remembered. I walked hand in hand with him along The Seine. I perused comics and old books with him, learning more about the man I love with each new beautiful moment. He was there for every splash in every puddle, reminding me of another rainy night and the kiss that changed my life. When I rode the Metro, I remembered how he moved his hand to secretly touch mine as we held onto the subway pole, steadying ourselves against the movement of the train and the whirlwind starting in our hearts. I would look at every face on the streets of Paris and on the Metro, hoping one would be his, although I knew it was impossible. I still looked. I still hoped that by some miracle I would see his face. His smile. His eyes.

But I remained alone.

Mais, il est avec moi, partout où je vais…
Il est dans mon cœur. Toujours.



~ by omgrey on July 18, 2011.

One Response to “Paris Dans Mon Cœur”

  1. […] of reconciliation, hoping that he meant it when he said he was determined to make things work…Paris. Normandy. London. Weeks of tears and questions and the inability to do anything, write, read, or […]

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