Bonjour, Paris

For so long, I resisted you—or perhaps, you resisted me. Who’s to say which came first? One thing is certain, though: your restless energy was never mine. I’ve always felt at home with a quieter, more deliberate pace.

But what could I do? I had to come to terms with it, didn’t I? I’m here now, and for good, by the looks of it. Ah, that warm summer light, bathing your empty streets and calling to me… City of Light, I admit, you wear your name so effortlessly.
As we begin to find our rhythm together, I’m reminded of those who are no longer here, yet whose memories are woven into the very fabric of this city. My godfather, my aunt—those Parisian top-floor apartments brimming with books and plants. One had to carefully carve out a path to catch a glimpse of the rooftops, stretching endlessly into the horizon.

So, I’ve taken to your streets, finding moments of peace tucked within this frenzy I must have imagined entirely. I’ve revived the presence of those who are gone, sparking many silent conversations. Your café terraces, your riverside mornings, and your well-worn museums have become improvised oases where my mind can wander freely. I met you where you were, and where I am.

Bonjour, Paris. Were you waiting for me?

Lisez-moi en français