Fast and furious, pounding, almost to the point of exploding, the emotions that arise from the depths of my soul to the top of my head. Bursting out every seam. To see what I am seeing through my eyes, tears come to the surface, as if there is no longer room to contain them. Overflowing thoughts of peace, tranquility but contradicted by the heartache and lonelyness that I feel. Its a condumdrum of feelings that have no rhyme or reason.
The scenery is breathtaking. Houses look like houses that are in story books, the kind you draw in Kindergarden, a box with a triangle on top and windows and a door, some with chimneys. This is what its supposed to be…this is how life is supposed to look like. Not all materialistic and fake. Real, the kind of real you can touch.
I see a chapel steeple in the background. I know there are people here that have their values…then I am brought quickly back to the 21st century with the marks of graffiti on the train cars on the side of the tracks. But they are quickly gone and the romance of the train ride, continues.
The hope of new romance is the actuality of what took me to Paris…but it had befallen me and was no longer an open offer. As I got to Paris, the people were beautiful and my heart was open to receive, but after a quick subway ride to my final destination it all disappeared into the smokey night air. I was alone in the dark and with no direction of where to go, I trodden on to hopefully just happen upon my destination. It was if a dream, or rather a nightmare of sorts. Who thinks they will be attacked in Paris by a crazed Parisian woman. But as my attacker came at me, I thought my god, I am not here, how can I be here, why is this happening? Face punched, hair pulled as I was dragged to the ground, kicked in the head and dragged by the hair. Another blow to my back and to the neck, I quickly got up, tears pouring down my face ,in search of anyone who would lend a hand. I thought my rescuer was approaching but as I pleaded and begged for help, the Parisian woman spoke french to the man, and I was run off.
This was my welcome to Paris, and this is why, after all this time, I do not find Paris romantic in any way…sure, there is the Eiffel tower, what’s romantic about standing in a line that long. The pictures have a better time…There are lots of things about it…someday, I will return with faded memory of my first moments..and perhaps I will be able to understand the draw to such a city. Until I let you have your tales of love of such a romantic city, but I will keep my romance to the one city I want to visit more than any city in the world, and that is Florence, Italy. That’s were I will find my love, in the most basic sense, or just the thought…