Paris, day 3

Paris

It’s pouring in Paris. The sky is so grey, it resembles what the absence of color would represent. The wind is so strong, I can see it blowing the rain from the rooftops. The draft in my hallway rattles the doors, and on the ultimate floor of the building, we are taking the wrath that other floors down below are spared from neighboring apartments. My usual unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower is camouflaged into the sky; sometimes I think I can see its form. But I cannot tell what’s real anymore.

My first day in Paris was grand, but there is nothing like the second. When you wake up, and get ready like any other day, and it is like any other day, until you step onto the street, and realize you woke up in Paris. You, and millions of others. Waking up to the smell of butter in croissants, rising through the maze of buildings. Today is the third day: life begins.

(The scent of butter was significantly fainter today, but perhaps that was because it was Sunday.)

The rain has slowed now. The grey sky is being illuminated from somewhere, lightening in shade but not lessening in coverage. The rain has slowed to a light tapping on the roof, though the draft still gives the impression someone is banging at the door. It has done this before, slowed to where you could barely perceive it was raining, and I almost left then, but I’m glad I stayed in, as it began again. To be caught in a storm is not any way to begin a life, though we all must walk through the rain at some point. There is always a day you forget your umbrella.

At any other time, I would embrace the opportunity to sit in a cozy apartment in Paris. The rain would make it all the better, give some ambiance, some life to the scene. But today I am eager to explore, hungry for opportunities - to meet new people, discover new places, be enthralled by new art, and bring to life new poems that are waiting to be inspired.

The rain is an excuse, because I am also scared. Scared in the best way. For I have come all the way to Paris to write, to read, to speak French, to discover myself. To what end, I have no aim. I am here to be here in this moment. And in this moment, it’s raining. But I’ve waited, long enough.

love,

greer