Thursday, October 2, 2008

you can use my skin, to bury secrets in

One thing about Paris, completely, entirely mine, I will miss her forever.

Husband pointed out to me that my worldview is naive, utterly disoriented (lacking orientation, removal from the Orient), and far too optimistic. I understand him, and it's not as harsh as it seems. He is not a harsh man, gentle lamb. But Paris really pointed this out to me. How many times have I been to Paris now. Really, like 8-10 times and I'm only 28. And how hard is it becoming for me to forgive anymore? One reason he and I got married, that he actually saw me for the first time for me, was that I forgave him. The hard part about forgiving is it chips away at you, always trying to remember why.

So then Paris. It was so achingly beautiful. Cloudy and sunny and cloudy. Didn't rain on us once. We went all over that damn city. Again. Again. For me. I was proud to show him the city I love most. I was proud to start day-dreaming in French again. To not think about those things at home. Brush my palms together and I gave current events up. Realized after this election I am done with politics. Will focus more on my independent studies. The Hillcrest Gardening Society that accepted my membership application. The taking this and working up a plan for a community garden at my church. The taking this and giving back as I feel the only way I can. My country won't do it for me anymore. Sadly.

So Paris. We took complete advantage, walking 10 miles a day, saw her all. I could explain things, history, and although sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who listens to me, I think he heard. But mostly it was nice to be so removed. We will never be able to afford to live there. We could never get the visas to live there. It will always be for vacation. But the bitter part, that I'm so glad we enjoyed it as much as we did, because I for one, won't ever be going back.

I felt like, in traveling there with him, that a large chapter had finished and it was time to get on with my life. Unplug there. Disconnect there and reconnect here. I have so many strong memories and feelings tied with Europe, but especially Paris. For all the things I felt I was going to be, in my life, with or without you.

Like so many people I have known in my life, Paris is the one I go back to even when she doesn't invite me. She doesn't call, or write. She's never, in all our years of knowing each other, asked me over for tea at her place to hear her side of things. How we both fell out over the same boy. And so, like how I hate it, when a ribbon sliver falls away, I cut her out.

I'll still need her parfum des violettes. I'll still need cafe creme. I'll still need escargots, cornichons, and sel gris. And YSL. But the way we're so global now, points I'll touch on later, I don't need her that much anymore. I have enough copies of Asterix and Obelix, and le Petit Prince. And Zola. I have enough of myself.

It's still very sad. Sadly so.

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