france was a mirror of my heart.

i saw myself for the first time.

i fell in love here.

15 june

16 JUNE

I HATE CROWDS,

AND LOUD NOISES,

AND BEING LOST.

I LOVE ART,

AND A SLOW LIFE,

AND WATCHING PEOPLE LAUGH.

SO ITS A BLESSING AND A SHAME THAT

PARIS IN THE SUMMER IS ALL OF THIS AT ONCE.

I AM TRYING TO SEE PARIS FOR WHO SHE IS-

BUT HER ESSENCE IS FOGGED BY THE LOUD CROWDS.

BUT I CANNOT BLAME THEM,

WE ALL WANT TO BE A PART OF IT.

I GET A HEAVY HEART HERE,

AN ACHE I’VE NEVER FELT BEFORE,

and i’ve had a broken heart plenty of times.

i feel strange watching people elbow each other

to snap a photo of a painting with a blank stare and walk away.

paris is full of frauds, and sometimes i feel like i am one of them.

but this city has proven to me i have a mind body and soul

that strives to please no one but myself.

think for yourself. feel! Feel! feel!

when i looked up, i saw a portrait of two angels peeking through a golden curtain of a mezzanine. they were laughing.

everyone is stopping to take pictures-

but really we are the spectacle.

these paintings have seen hundreds of years worth of fools.

myself and the others are not special.

i hope they know i stare at them with adoration.

how invasive it must feel to be stuck in a wall and

pointed at all day long.

17 june

portrait of an artist

it’s been so long since i felt a heartbreak like this.

standing in front of van goghs portrait of an artist,

i felt merciful.

i recalled the nights i’ve spent on my knees praying.

it was his eyes that drew me in. his eyes looked so tired.

i too have felt that exhausted by the weight of my own sadness.

the blues somehow made me feel lonely in a room with 50 other people.

van gogh & i locked eyes through the loud crowd of smiling tourists.

i knew he was trapped.

i felt pitiful towards him.

he is frozen in time as a sad soul.

no one wants to be remembered as helpless.

no one wants to be remembered as a suicide note.

the rest of the art in this museum meant nothing to me after i had seen portrait of the artist.

nothing has meant the same to me since this day in musee d’orsay.

18 june

hello from shakespeare & co.

i am my most authentic self between these wooden walls.

i do not need to form my own words to be understood here.

i am awfully tired of explaining myself to others.

in this building, i am relieved of that expectation.

no photos are allowed- so there is no proof of my visit.

which is how i prefer to live.

the only noise inside is the sound of shuffling feet and turning pages.

i can hear someone playing saxophone.

i hear people chattering at cafes,

but that is a different paris outside.

my grandma warned me how dangerous paris is.

she told me to clutch my purse and keep my head down

when men pass me on the street.

but i feel safe in this bookshop.

i feel like myself.

the stillness in here is not the paris they warned me about,

it’s my own.

they told me paris is busy, and mine is.

but i’m in my own world. i hardly notice.

they told me it was crawling with pick pockets- but i am the thief.

i am the one stealing knowledge like its gold.

i am the one with the stone-cold parisian glare.

i am the one walking fast with no where to go.

19 june

the art here is different than the art at home. it feels alive here.

the statues move when you look in their eyes for long enough.

the art speaks to me, not in english or french.

but nonetheless, i understand it.

paris has shown me i am not strange. i am perfectly normal because there are people like me, who understand life the same way i do.

i did not talk to many people here.

but i read enough that it felt like i met the artists & authors.

they are the heart that keeps paris alive.

paris and i are still getting to know each other.

i brought home a lot of fear from france.

i am tryig to turn it into power,

but i must admit it’s eating me alive.

i know i am blessed, but i am struggling with faith.