Dear Paris
Firstly, allow me to apologise: it’s been too long since last we met, forgive
me. That does not mean, however, that I
have not thought of you; I do, but as so often happens in life, life gets in
the way. I am so very sorry.
In the time I have been away from you, we have both endured
difficulties and joys, you more so. We
are both recovering in our own way. It
is perhaps that journey of recovery that has led my thoughts back to you once
again.
Do you remember when we first met? I was a fresh faced, giddy bride, riding the
cosmopolitan waves of romance that you spread amongst the bars and cafes. You wooed me; flirted with me, and showed so
much of what you had to offer. How could
I not fall in love? Your reputation
preceded you, and you did not disappoint.
You threw your arms open wide, and held my hand in a tight embrace,
beckoning me to follow you at every corner.
You led me to bars where time slowed down, and I adored watching the
world slowly pass by. I was part of a scene
from a romantic movie, sat with the man I loved, drinking wine and simply
existing, without a care in the world.
You’ve been calling to me.
Gently at first: a memory, a whisper.
More urgently now. You turn up in
places I don’t expect. You became louder
when you sensed my need for a new direction, a new path. You have become incessant since you heard my
yearning for more creativity and culture in my life. Please, don’t read this letter as a request for
silence or peace.
It is a response.
I hear you, Paris. I
don’t know when I will return, but I promise I will. I don’t know if it will be a brief encounter,
happening quickly, quietly and passionately, or a long term love affair
endlessly simmering, where I slip away whenever the chance arises, and allow
you to wine and dine me as you have so many times before. Perhaps, it will be something more
permanent. An elopement? Please don’t doubt my commitment. This blog is the first step in my travels to
you. How hard is it to get back, you ask? Paris is so close; it’s not difficult, or
expensive to get here, you seethe. I
know. I understand. But please be aware that I am living two
lives: a dual identity. I have a day
job. It contains responsibilities; it involves
time and effort. I have a family, and
that comes with its own joy and discipline.
Behind the scenes, I am writing.
I am carving out a path to you.
Every blog post, every typed word is a stitch in the ticket that gets me
back to you. I know you will greet me
with effervescent pride. You will
celebrate my success in the clatter of heels on cobbled streets and stone
steps. Triumph will shine in the eyes of
sullen waiters, and sparkle in the waters of beautiful fountains, and I will
taste congratulations in every chocolate crepe I consume.
A writer.
A writer in Paris.
That is who I want to be.
Wait for me.
All my love,
Belle Imagination.
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