Paris je t’aime
Lately I have been thinking a lot about my time in Paris. I keep returning to my memory of walking down the long tree-lined avenues of Le Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, and of seeing Oscar Wilde’s tombstone. There was a group of us coalescing around the final resting place of this revered poet, writer and persona. There was not much talking, as we all stood looking at the letters, personal confessions, and red lipstick kisses covering his tomb. I remember how at peace and happy I was. It was October, but it felt like spring. The trees had not yet lost their leaves and were still green, and despite being in a place of the dead, I felt that youth, the sense of being alive, and full of sparks and air was more pronounced here in this place and in this city than anywhere else.
I remember the quiet except for the murmurs of people talking in soft voices, and of footsteps on cobblestone. There is something special about Paris, something unexplainable in the atmosphere.
I remember sitting on a bench at the cemetery where four main avenues met at a water fountain. I could have sat there forever, for I was so purely content with doing nothing. My mind was at ease and I was thinking of nothing, except for maybe the thought, “this is so beautiful.”
Every time I think of that time, of that moment, I feel like the no’s of the world mean nothing. My time in Paris reminds me that the world can be an eternal YES, yes, and yes.
Give me a wide tree-lined street and quiet, and I’ll be blissfully happy.
- This is Paris part II (dieuonthegrass.wordpress.com)