suck my blood
He’s been living here for years now, and although he wants to leave, he says he can’t. Because this city, it sinks it’s teeth into you. You can hate your day-to-day life in Paris, but it will find a way to grab you when you’re not looking.
It will be cloudy and miserable for days, and then suddenly the sun will break through the clouds, light up an old church, and you know, you just know, that this is one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
And so I live for the moments. I follow Hemingway’s footsteps and hop from one café to the next, meet up with friends, drink too much, and let the city take me where it will.
Some days I wear my Parisian frown quite well, and my heart is so heavy that I have to sit down, but it never lasts forever.
This weekend was live music in a smoky bar, lunch at les philosophes, blues music on the Seine, Hemingway on the metro, Indian food in a small alley way, wine, Russian caviar, bookstores, homemade dinner, one-on-one conversation and my feet skipping their way all around the city.
I live for the faces here too. The faces of those I know and of those I don’t know. For the woman dressed all in orange, seated across from me on the metro. For my favorite Blues singer on the bridge, wearing his fedora and sunglasses. For the old women with serious faces, and the young men with mischief in their eyes.
There are days when all I want to do is to go home, but quite frankly, I've been bitten. When I leave, I better leave running, because this vampire has a taste for me, and it will be hard to get away.