when did romance become old fashioned?
No lover under my bed covers.
No cigarettes in my ashtray.
No sunshine on the Seine.
I am optimistic and push through every day with a smile on my face, but these days there is little romance in my life here.
The other day I was walking home in the rain from the park with the kids, freezing, rain seeping into my shoes, carrying a scooter which kept smacking against my leg, one hand gripping cookies and a wobbly umbrella, my fingers blue with cold. I could only see a morsel of the Eiffel tower, the rest covered by fog.
That’s how it all feels sometimes: covered in fog. The dream, the beauty, the happiness and confidence I used to carry so well.
I’m sick of having a six-year-old girl boss me around. A girl who puts me down and hates to see me win at anything. I’m working on enforcing my authority, of sharing some of the dramas with the parents, and on not throwing her out of her bedroom window.
It’s not all bad. I’m getting very good at my job. I do everything I’m asked and more, and no longer receive daily complaints. Instead I’m thanked for teaching math tricks, sewing part of the girl’s jacket back together, making good meals, and for leaving two happy children at the end of the night.
Yesterday I stayed in with the young boy, and worked extra hours watching him, as he’s been sick. He was incredibly easy to care for. I made him spaghetti, hot chocolate, and drew him Yoda. He seemed happy. I read while he walked around the room talking about Star Wars battles. He does this for hours. I nod and smile and try to read my book.
I plan on writing a lot more. I plan on finding the romance that brought me here in the first place, and has brought thousands of writers and artists to Paris throughout time. I want to immerse myself in art and culture and remember what makes my heart beat.
I plan on writing honestly.
I don’t care to lie anymore. I don’t want to fill the page with lies and clichés because I’m afraid of saying how I feel.
I feel lost here. Honestly. But I’m holding on tight to the dream that brought me here in the first place.
It's early Saturday morning and I have the weekend ahead of me. I have streets to wander, the winter sales to check out, museums to visit, cafes to try, and my favourite drinking partner meeting up with me tonight.
I might even stop for a croissant. I want it warm, buttery, flakey and melting in my mouth. I want it to bring me back to the romance.