A thought of Paris
Now we’re leaving Paris I am sad, very sad. It’s always the way, I suppose. I’ve been so lucky to live here – or right on the edge of Paris – for nearly nine years, less 18 months for the confinement. I’ve profited from that as if a tourist: wandering round the streets in various parts of Paris; eating lunch in bistros or a drink in bars here and there; and – yes – just living here, or hereabouts. And soon that will come to an end.
I’ve been wandering around this evening. Lucie is meeting an old university friend. I was just in the area to the west of Place d’Italie. I walked back from the indifferent place I had eaten. Lights fell on the cobblestones by a bar. The metro came up the slope to an overground station, and another sank bustling beside me. Leaves scrolled on the wide pavements. Cars came and went as ever. But the anonymity greeted and lulled me.
I want to live in the countryside; but to have breathed in Paris, and existed in Paris, is something truly special. And as I write and remember there are tears pricking at my eyes.