I think that I have made the decision to stay put one more year, as much as I want to go back to Paris tout de suite. I came back for love and to get my mind right. Now that my mind's right I feel like the rest will follow or maybe not and if not, that's alright, because, of course, my mind's right.
What I am trying to do is build my writing business so that I can live like I live here there, if that makes sense. It's going slowly and right now I'm feeling not so surely, and boy I miss my spot.
I miss the smells and the sounds of Paris. I miss the neighborhoods where I hung out and my soul opened up again. I miss walking around Chateau Rouge trying to find a place to get my hair braided. I miss my mint tea and my patisseries. I miss my movies any time of day or night. I miss my favorite cafe off the boulevard Saint Michel, surprisingly devoid of tourists. I miss my walks through Pere Lachaise where I could reflect undisturbed. The dead generally mind their own business...
I miss the fine men, the flirting, the hustle and bustle, the sophistication of it all that makes Chicago look like a podunk backwater and even New York (a little bit). I miss it. I miss eating scrambled eggs sprinkled with a bit of Emmenthaler that taste like heaven. Like no other eggs anywhere. I miss my cafe creme and my cafe haunts. I miss my favorite bookstore on rue Saint Maur and I miss eating the ambrosial mammoul found at La Grande Mosquee de Paris.
I miss going to the Louvre at night and that stretch on the metro ligne 6 (that's Charles de Gaulle Etoile and Nation) between the Dupleix and Bir Hakeim stops at night. Each time you ride at night and reach that point and see the Eiffel Tower lit up you lose your breath, you forget how beautiful, how seductive it all is. You are reminded at that point each time of where you are, not that you could ever forget.
God. I have to get back home.