The Paris Times

Paris I A dark academia inspired blog I

[aloneholy]

moon yesterday walking me home

[theparisbookclub]

“Sometimes I scoff at the idiom of soulmates, other times I feel it is the reason I hold onto life. To someday feel whatever the first two people felt when they called themselves soulmates. What prompted the first two people to look at their love and call it a soul connection, to look at their love beyond the physical, to rationalize their love as being created and brought to them by metaphysical forces. To think of something so special, so unique, that bringing the laws of the universe into equation is the only thing that can satisfy you. To fathom love as being much larger than you and me.”

— my journal entries (via theparistimes)

[triflingthing]

Why have one tiny desk when I can have two

[theparistimes]

Three nights, four days

Part of a book I'm writing, sometimes love seems bigger than all of us and sometimes it feels small.

She walked to the city street as she lit up a cigarette, letting it dangle from her shaky fingers. 

He could be on his way home now, she thought, would he be mad? Of course he would. There was no going back. All the times she had thought about this moment, one time she even packed her bags but could not muster the courage to leave, and now she did. It was more scary than she thought it would be, more shaky, less relieving. 

Standing on the curb she hailed for a cab, she had left her phone behind. She would get a new one when she felt like interacting with the outside world again, for now she felt too betrayed, frail, cheated. She had always been an independent woman, never needing outside comfort or support, she was self-sufficient. This self-sufficiency led her towards a lot of successes, she was hard-headed and determined in her professional life. A failed relationship stings deep and to her, someone who had never been deliberate in the search for romance, it stung like alcohol on an open wound. For as hard-headed and focused as she was in her professional life, none of it showed in her relationship. As far as she was concerned, she had been reduced to an impotent woman. With that thought twirling around in the chaos that was her mind, she stepped in the back of the cab that had pulled over for her. 

Off she was, headed for the train station, for the first time in her adult life she finally felt free. Not only free from the shackles of an abusive relationship, also free in the literal sense, she had no where to be. The money she had saved up provided her with enough time to find out what her next move was going to be. 

After paying the cab driver, a single father of two girls he had told her, a generous amount she stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the train station. It was a small old-fashioned station with a long broad staircase and dark grey out front. Looking up she felt a wave of remorse. She thought back to the last time she had taken the train at this hour, it was after a long day at the office where she had been busy writing a report. He had been texting and calling her all night, letting her know how much he missed and loved her. The memories of them had painted what once was her favourite city on earth, grey. With harsh, brittle strokes that left its mark on every building, every stranger, even the clouds looked tainted. Shaking the thought, she quickly made her way towards the train that was bound to leave in less than fifteen minutes. The train was headed east, she was planning to step off at a small city two hours away. 

Holding her bag close to her chest as she stood on the train platform. Humming to herself, as she always did when stressed, a habit acquired from her mother. If there is one thing she had learned from her, it was how to persevere and put up a good front. Although she was sad an oblivious stranger would have never been able to tell, as even in her most desperate moments she still had her nails manicured, her jewelry in place, and her hair softly curled around a shiny clip. Breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth , in through the nose and out through the mouth, in through the nose and out through the mouth  as she had learned from her yoga instructor. 

When she told her boss she would be quitting her job he said "do you want a raise? I think I could get you one, corporate is very fond of you". She just shook her head and told him that she was moving and the commute would be too long. He had understood but she was still one of the few people who he could get along with, so they hugged goodbye with tear-filled eyes. She was lucky enough to be let go immediately due to all the vacation days she had not used. Thinking about the old boss made her chuckle a little. 

As the train approached their platform she, only for a split second, contemplated her decision. Three years, that is the amount of time she had put into this relationship. Three years she thought when I step onto that train it will all be wasted time, the last three years might as well never have happened, when I step onto that train they will be only exist in memory. With those thoughts swirling her head she stepped onto the train, almost tripping on her own feet, making her way to the first seat she saw and sitting cross-legged on the cold leather. 

Twirling the light fabric of her skirt in one hand, and the small book she managed to bring with her in the other, she sat staring outside the train window watching the trees pass before her. 

See three years is, in theory, not that long. When you were three years old you could barely talk or do anything really, your parents still referred to themselves as "new" parents. If you look at yourself three years ago you were probably just three years younger, nothing more and nothing less, your hair may have changed and the way you dress could have changed but none of that is permanent and will probably be different again in the next three years. Three years spent on a relationship that is not good for you, mentally, physically, or emotionally, drains you not just from three years of life, but from life in its entirety. The damage that three years managed to cause her could take another lifetime to unpack. She may not get another lifetime but that will not stop her from trying her best to live a new, happier, life. 

A happier life  she thought what would a happier life even look like.  

[thirdity]

“At the moment when desire ceases and contemplation, pure seeing, and self-surrender begin, everything changes. Man ceases to be useful or dangerous, interesting or boring, genial or rude, strong or weak. He becomes nature, he becomes beautiful and remarkable as does everything that is an object of clear contemplation. For indeed contemplation is not scrutiny or criticism, it is nothing but love. It is the highest and most desirable state of our souls: undemanding love.”

— Hermann Hesse, My Belief: Essays on Life and Art

[philosophybits]

“It is a common sentence that knowledge is power; but who hath duly considered or set forth the power of ignorance? Knowledge slowly builds up what ignorance in an hour pulls down.”

— George Eliot, Daniel Deronda

[theparistimes]

Three nights, four days

Part of a book I'm writing, sometimes love seems bigger than all of us and sometimes it feels small.

She opened the cardboard box her boyfriend, now fiancé , had handed her over dinner and took another close look at the ring. It was a beautiful gold band with a line of small square diamonds on top. Engraved with the word apricus (the Latin word meaning "full of sunshine" held special significance to her because of the nickname her late grandfather had given her) and presented in a black rose-shaped box, he had been so thoughtful she thought. 

She noticed him looking at her with watery eyes when she was sipping the last of her red wine chatting about her coworker whose cat had wandered off again "see, I believe that it is unethical to keep animals who are naturally wanderers locked inside" she had said "the thing clearly wants out" and off she was on her passionate rant when he grabbed both of her hands gently, his eyes catching hers. The look in his eyes enough to silence her, she had seen this coming, he was not good at keeping secrets. In that split second she thought about her future with him, the house they would live in, the kids they would raise, and in that split second it all seemed plausible. That could just be the wine talking  she thought but would it really be so bad for me to accept things as they are her dad always told her to manage her expectations, dreams are just that  she could hear him god she had one drink too many.

Holding the ring between her thumb and index finger, she twirled it in the soft hue of her bedside lamp, watching the gems catch the light and reflect it back in small sparkles. Tonight was supposed to go differently, she had been dreading their weekly date night, scared that the drinks would loosen her up to tell him about it. It,  is that what she should call the crumbling doubts she had about their relationship. He had been suspiciously silent, wandering off midsentence, going on a tangent one minute and dead silent the next. He would go out more than once a week, which he typically never did, only to call her, incoherently drunk, to tell her how much he missed and loved her. Why don't we just live together?  he said with a slur in his voice. 

Why didn't they?  She liked, or loved, him enough to say yes when he finally got down on his knees, half weeping at that point, declaring his love for her and promising to be her most faithful and honest life partner. Forgetting the rare occasions he would show up at her door, knocking violently, practically swinging in his place, ready to tell her off about whatever she had or had not done. It did not really matter to her, she knew men and how they were, at least he loved her enough to apologize when he sobered up.

She tried, she really did, but the tears would not flow and god was she an awful actress so she pulled him close and gave him a kiss "of course I will" she proclaimed. The waiter brought them a bottle of celebratory champagne and they toasted to a happy life together. Smiling at the ring on her finger, ensuring him that it was all she could have asked for. Sometimes when she thought back to that night she wondered whether he was doing it all for show, because of what society tells men about women, how they love big gestures and romantic confessions, or if he truly cared for her. The latter being a dangerous thought that could spiral her into madness if it truly wanted to. 

That was three nights ago, three long, anxious, nights ago. She was too embarrassed to tell her friends that they had gotten engaged, her fiancé had been off to "celebrate" as he put it. Over the course of their relationship she had slowly lost contact with her friends, not that she was much of a social butterfly to begin with, but even her dearest friend whom she went to for everything was getting harder to talk to. She could only do so much in the summer heat, always being covered in bruises, given that coming up with excuses was not her forte. Her family who could not be as oblivious as they let on, beamed with pride when she told them. She had never been close to her family but their façade of ignorance was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"aren't you hot" her friend had said gesturing to the long sweater she had draped over her tank top when the sudden visitor showed up at her door one night. "Well you know me, I like being cozy" was the lame excuse she had managed to come up with. The friend shrugged one shoulder and went on about her mother, loudly chewing on her gum. 

That night, after the proposal, he had insisted on going home with her. We are engaged now, you will be bearing my name, how can you still not let me stay the night? I am just tired, too many drinks, besides I have a lot of work to catch up on in the morning, you will be bored. His persistence gave her an ominous feeling.

He was not satisfied with that answer. His kind words and loving gestured turned hard and sharp. She could not take it any more, grabbing the nearest bottle conveniently placed on the kitchen counter, smashing it on the counter rop, she held it before her threatening him silently to not come any closer. Still he did.

That was how she ended up on her kitchen floor, at 2 am, scrubbing profusely at the red stains on the tile floor. She managed to get most of it out but red was a stubborn colour, an aggressive colour. When she hit him with the bottle he backed away grunting loudly, yelling all kind of profanities at her. She was scared, so scared, but admittedly felt powerful. Like a kid on the playground would standing up to their bully for the first time after being tormented for the entire school year. This wasn't a playground  she thought I am an adult in an adult relationship standing in my kitchen with a broken bottle in my hand and a battered fiancé who still could not stop grunting. Sixteen stitches, sixteen stitches were needed to patch that night up.

Checking her wrist watch, the time read 11, she had to hurry if she wanted to catch the midnight train. She put the ring back into the black rose-shaped box and dropped it on her bed along with the hurried note she had written I can't do this any longer. He would find it there, the bedroom being the first thing he marched to on his drunken nights. She knew he would knock on her door tonight so she left it open, having packed her tiny shoulder bag with as much necessities as she could muster in the little time she had. It is funny how she could stay in the relationship for so long, and feel fine, only to now feel suffocated to the point where staying only a minute longer would drive her mad. Four days, Four long, anxious, days.

Taking one last look over her shoulder, she walked out the door. Leaving it cranked open for the man who she hoped to never see again. The man who three nights ago had left a mark on her, for the last time. 

[theparistimes]

“I wonder if everyone feels this way, this undeniable emptiness inside them. When I was younger, it would creep up on Sunday evenings, a dispiritedness. Now I feel it everyday, from the minute I wake up until I rest my eyes again. The sun seems to move across the sky, and the clock tells me that time is still passing, but there is nothing in me that can confirm this. For all I know, the clock and the sun are in it to fool me. Their passing could just be a play, orchestrated to make me think that it is only me who feels this way.”

— my journal entries

[willingtobe]

For all I know, the clock and the sun are in it to fool me.

[thegirlwhocriesacademia]

The sheer romanticism of being unknown, of coming into people’s lives seemingly out of nowhere and leaving the exact same way, of saying or doing something with someone that you know you will never see or hear from again and then helping someone expecting nothing in return, of only existing in vague memories people have as that person that did that or said this. 

[thegirlwhocriesacademia]

Before I start rambling, this post is one of my favourites and I stand by every word of it, at least the good side of it. These past few years I have had some sort of complex where I would have preferred to be with people for short periods of time, and I still do. That is also the reason I wrote this post, and I did not think this many people could relate to it and it made me a little sad. What has led me, personally, to this point is the amount of times I have gotten close to someone, and how much I enjoyed being with and around that person, only to be pushed away once they had had enough. There is nothing wrong with that, no one owes me anything, deciding that maybe you do not want to be friends with someone anymore is not something you have to explain, but I am saying all of this to say that it is worth it. Getting close to someone, putting the possibility of getting hurt on the back burner to be with someone, even if it is just for a little bit, is worth every second of it. Allow people in, let yourself be known, and most importantly do not forget that vulnerability does not equal weakness. 

[theparistimes]

Chaos is about the loudest thing ive heard. Maybe chaos isnt the right word but when something unexpected happens, usually a tragic event. Theres some loud noises that you will never notice otherwise. The way you make yourself a cup of coffee before driving down to see a loved one, or the way your car ticks when you signal right, the way you notice the number of stuffy noses or dry coughs in the elevator up, the sound of fabric once you take off your jacket to leave it on your chair. Suspense and a touch of unexpectedness.

[lantern-hill]

lines that hit different

((There is no one way to be a mushroom. Have you seen how fucked up they are? How god-ignorant and wild? Listen to the mushroom wisdom. Do whatever stirs your soul. (@moami)

We could just kiss, like real people do (like real people do - Hozier)

You’ll always be my favourite ghost (Big God - Florence + The Machine)

Food, sex, and death are the three great mediators of human experience. (@givemearmstopraywith)

Girls don’t have empty fields to run to anymore and somewhere deep inside they know that they are missing something vital, and they spend their lives looking for it. (@outpastthemoat)

[The] place between hopeless romantic and strong independent individual (@theparistimes)

If you want gardens, become the gardener. (Victoria Erickson)

If you aren’t dead, you’ve got time.

The human urge to tell a story spans centuries and millennia. (@keuhkopussirotta)

Effort is the most attractive thing someone could give you

Let’s weaponize comfort  (The world told me to hate myself; I realized the greatest act of rebellion was to love myself) (@feenyxblue)

Career goal: teeny sparrow drinking from a puddle after a storm (@plasticlove1984)

But poetry. Romance. Love. These are what we stay alive for. (Dead Poets Society)

Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you. (Welcome to Night Vale, Finknor)

Mostly void, partially stars // mostly void, partially thought (WTNV, Finknor)

Travelling is like flirting with life.  It’s like saying, ‘I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is not my station.’  (Lisa St. Aubin de Terán)

It is not because men’s desires are strong that they act ill; it is because their consciences are weak. (John Stuart Mill; On Liberty)

The dead know the language of flowers only, so they keep quiet (George Seferis)

Maleficent frost in witching hours (Dion Anja)

You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it (Yves Olade)

Let’s shake this poet out of the beast (Mitski)

[somerabbitholes]

hei. i occasionally go through your entire tumblr when i want inspiration. i came across an ask someone sent about the tumblr post on the space between a hopeless romantic and a strong independent individual, written by theparistimes. i don't know if you've found that post yet, i think the ask was pretty long ago. but i had bookmarked it on instagram, so here you go - https://www.instagram.com/p/CGuuNvNjZ6l/?hl=en

just my personal take on it, i'm aroace and i could relate more to this (atleast some of it) as coming to terms with being asexual and a hopeful aromantic. idk if that makes sense but i was happy that people can relate to this post in so many ways, because in the end it's all about hoping to find love in multiple ways without losing your self-respect or desolately. i love it so much and i wish there was a book on this concept.

have a good day :)

!! oh my god you found it! thank you so much, i’ve been looking for it for so long 💛

it’s so nice to know the way you like the post. i like it because i truly enjoy being on my own and i wouldn’t change that for anything, and the post seems to be able to put it into words.

thanks again, and have a nice day!

[inkskinned]

oh, i am finally old enough to know why my parents took so long to grab their coats. why they would ask us to get ready to go only to sit down for another round of coffee. what would i tell myself, at 10 years old? it’s okay. sit down with them too. take in the extra hour with your friend and her family. when you get home, write down every moment in your diary. one day you will be older and you will be waving goodbye to your best friend, and you will turn the key to start your beat up little car engine, and you will look back over your shoulder. her hair will be blowing in the wind and she will be beautiful and you will be, for a moment, struck by all of it. what you will feel is so wide and nameless that it will engulf you. and you will think of being 14 and kicking her under the table in math every time you wanted to whisper something behind the teacher’s back. you will think about how long the days felt, and how you could hold her hand whenever you wished, but you didn’t. and you will think about all of the people you could have lingered with. and you will wish, more than you have ever felt a wish, that the universe just gave you that - more time to linger. more time to say - i love you. i know i need to leave, but i don’t want to leave you. and when i go, i am leaving a piece of my heart that lingers too. 

one more round of coffee. the days are so short, and you are so lovely.

[bakwaaas]

“The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.” (mikko harvey)

[theparistimes]

Three flowers in a row, bent at the neck and hanging low. 

One was a vibrant, burning red, much like the girl who went off and wed. 

The oldest a peculiar shade of teal, much like the girl who wanted to fall off the wheel. 

Then there was the one in between, much like the girl who was much to keen. 

Keeping the dead flowers close to her heart, even when they were clearly ready to part. 

The colour this flower had was pink, much like the girl who could not help but think

That watering the flowers would have kept them alive for at least a few hours.

[theparistimes]

I’m back and you can ask me anything

it’s been a good four years since I’ve been on here and I noticed my posts are (still) getting traction for some reason, ask me or tell me anything!

I’ve been feeling inspired again so feel free to share your thoughts on what you would like to see more of as well 💭

[finita--la--commedia]

@Maria Chehovskaya

[lustingupon]

https://lustingupon.tumblr.com