A week later or so. No time to write. But the energy is back in my body and I shock myself at my stamina. Life is beautiful again. Apart from the rain.
But it isn’t that feeling. I thought I was condemned to eternal misery.
My mother in Paris. I cried when she left. It is that feeling of being absolutely free. The ability to do things. To taste wonderful foods. To share with her my life and to hope that she is having a lovely time too. To smell perfumes and see art and eat the most beautiful myrangues. To make Victor a part of our family. To feel protected and safe. TO sail on the winds of happiness.
May day in Paris was the dawn of such a beautiful time. The summer
. My new life. Chocolates in the sun. Flowers on the streets. Landscaped gardens. Then the desire. The touching and sex in the bushes . The weakness of our humanity. The feeling that we wanted to be watched. The voyeurism of hearing the children around us as we jerk of amongst the leaves. I love your smooth penis. I love seeing your white cum spray out and to know that I have given you some satisfaction. Some dirty rude awakening. It isn’t clever . It is stupidity but it is spring in Paris.
I stopped writing so I just had time to live my last weeks of Paris with you. My memories record it as do my photographs but the knowledge that I wont be able to preserve every touch of the skin terrifies me, I plan to get it all out in the lonely weeks. To try and translate it’s beauty. I doubt I will be able to clarify my thoughts. Un jumble my emotions. Now I feel fear. Fear at leaving the beautiful. I am excited to go back and present the new way I think to London. I am not scared of the bad. But I don’t want to leave. I am not scared of the consequences just scared of the pain of being away. I want to see people and laugh with them. I miss the London streets but Paris is my home and I am sure the sickness will be apt. Paris is still so unfamiliar and mysterious. So many people I don’t know or places I haven’t been. I am still in discovery. I will step back in to London and know everything. Or maybe it will change? But I don;t want the old comfortability back. I learned to do everything new here. So london will be fresh.
But you see here I have a proper room with a view and it means so much to see the rooftops and the wind and the sky in day and night and the storms and the sunsets and to here Paris around me. I lie in my bed and you can see the colours of the city changing around you. The room with the view was my freedom. Is my freedom. The buildings here are like nothing else.
Maybe in three months I wont want to leave London.
Maybe it is just the placement of myself in a space.
Where I can create my life.
And obviously. I didn’t stop writing in Paris.