One of the many café in Paris.
I asked a Parisian friend what I should do when I came to her hometown & one of her long list of suggestions was “go to cafés everywhere”. We sat in one across the street from the Seine & I remember a man sitting beside us with eyes squinted, smoking as he looked towards somewhere far away from anything within our line of sight. Sam had coffee too strong. I had something I now forget. Used to having my hot teas & coffees in little glass mugs, I found their deep green, red or blue cups & accompanying saucers incredibly pretty. But I don’t find parisian cafés that romantic. They’re too expensive for me to romanticize. All I remember being romantic was the dying day giving us an orange sky; thinking about Owen Wilson in Midnight in Paris walking in the rain because he thinks it’s beautiful, Anais Nin & Henry Miller saying sexy things in french while pressed together under a bridge, Simone De Beauvoir seducing her female students while teaching in la Sorbonne, & me feeling so calm I felt like I was turning into a flower. I didn’t find Paris romantic. But I still found it beautiful. I think I learned from Anais —
"I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy."