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The book of Al.

Mornings in Paris

Dwellers of La Ville Lumière, yet we choose to stay behind closed doors as the sun comes up. Busy coffee shops bathed with the scent of freshly baked cookies, the heavenly smell of café crème, the pretty cherry blossoms by the river Seine, the famous art galleries around Rue de Rivoli, the colourful flower shops by the 22nd avenue - beautiful little things i never appreciated enough, because i was always up in my tiny apartment with you turning your sorrows into songs and me weaving my problems into prose. With these pillow forts, fluffy blankets, little fairylights, messy bedroom, leftovers from last night, a fridge full of desserts to satisfy our cravings and a heart full of unlimited amount of love to mend our broken pieces together - don't we look like two punks of some aesthetic poetry?

Do you wish for these verses of our poetry to never end?

Years fast foward.

I roam around the streets of Rue de Rivoli. Marvelling the beauty of the The Louvre museum. I even find myself lost in the colours of the flowers blooming by the 22nd avenue, the Cafe de Flore has become my favourite place to satisfy the demands of my sweet tooth and of course, the cherry blossoms by the Seine still holds the words of the song you mumbled every night. I walk by the 29th rue and smile as my bestseller sits proudly by the works of Sparks, Ahern and Rowling. I could taste sunshine in my success. Happily I return back to my old small apartment. Nothing has changed since you've gone. The walls of these rooms has watched me grow and knows me better then any human ever have and probably ever will but they still remember your familiar silhouette and how aggressive and angry you used to get.

I switch on the radio as i sit by my table. "Young British singer, Will Anderson, is performing tonight at 7 by Les Disquaires, his new..." I instantly turn it off. The familiar feeling of uneasiness overwhelms me. I look at my watch. 6:20 p.m. it said. I run outside my boots clicking harder against the cold concrete every time i curse myself under my breath.

I really wish i hated you.

-Bidisha.

( ps - i have never been to Paris. This is how i have always imagined paris would generally look like. If i have made any such mistakes feel free to correct them and tell me. Thank you so much)

Image source - weheartit