Tag: paris

Love You, Love Them, Love Me

love, paradise, visual story February 14, 2021

After all this, what can be said of love?

C’est simple. C’est tout. It’s everywhere, in everything…and so, I’m in love with it all.

From daily visits with the neighbor’s grey cat, the sight of ducks’ webbed feet, paddling along, the man who feeds the birds from Parc de la Villette à Porte de la Pantin, walks along Canal de l’Ourcq when it rains, feeling a soft body of heat waft around my snow-covered apartment, to finding new soul connections.

J’aime tout.

We’re taught to fear loving everything, yet, we are love’s greatest embodiment, as beings who can fully feel and express love as they wish. Other beings envy this ability, and yet, we run from it in ourselves. 

We run because we vehemently believe that we mistake control, co-dependency, and/or abuse for love. And so, our associations to love hurts us more than heartbreak itself. If co-dependency is a drug we abuse, but love is a cure all.

Love is freedom–from fear, attachment and predestined outcomes. Meanwhile, our attachment to co-dependency leads us to confuse love as something we can consume instead of experience.

Love is our true nature.

Let us not consume the love we offer one another; let us allow love to shepherd one another to new heights. Love you, love them, love me–even when it rains.

Changing Seasons

art, lifestyle, parisian, visual story December 9, 2020

I compiled the pictures of the last few months, and felt uncertainty fill me…

What do I write? What do I say?

…That, I got to live my dream, but it doesn’t always fill me with joy?

That, I’m struggling to feel good about living day after day indoors, despite the privileges of doing so?

That, I’m tired of monotony, but not sick, and feeling very grateful for that? But that, despite the constant fatigue, I still dare to utter some truths;

Is that not the point of being alive?

And, despite that celebration, I’m still tired, and constantly losing inspiration.

Would you hate to know that there’s less laughter and planning, and more agitation with waiting for new dreams to come to fruition?

And, I still wake up to things that make me sad, despite how grateful I am to just be alive? And, that there’s so much pain in my reflections on the world I live in, wherein I constantly question, ‘what would make me less threatening?’

No matter what you put me in, I’ll always wear my Black skin, even in death

Sure, seasonal changes have never been easy, but putain, cette saison est trop difficile.

Transient Solstice

europe September 29, 2016

Summer. Certainly, I can think of worse times to be alive. It was like a short-handed note. Something you penned after waking up from a daydream.

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Lucid.

Processed with VSCO with p5 preset Processed with VSCO with c1 presetYour hand moved as quickly as the bubbling of the fountain Trevi. If it were a book, its binding would’ve loosened.

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Or you would’ve taken it to Ibiza and lost it on an EasyJet flight. Truth be told, sometimes you can’t help but be a forgetful prick.

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 A lot of the time, you wish you had paid closer attention. Your drifting eyes trapped on the sight of topless ladies.

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A street fight with glass bottles and pepper spray jilts you back to the present moment, an afternoon bike ride you took braless through the streets of Milan.

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So cultured.

You managed to not lock yourself out of your Airbnb that day. That precarious, exhilarating night.

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You’d fall into your feverish dreams under the sheet of one country only to widen your weepy eyes in another.

Memories of stationary work days, as uneventful as Paris permitted them to be, drip down the side of a cocktail glass at Le Perchoir, the Tour staring bleary eyed back at you and your crazies.

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“work kills”

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Maybe you should’ve listened when your mom told you to drink less. As you sped across Ponte Sant’Angelo, the expletives she’d use to denounce the childish ways you play with your life play over and over in the back of your head.

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But, if nothing else, at least you stopped to talk to strangers. To pour the warmth of a full smile into their hands. To feed the mouths of hungry kittens with strawberry yogurt left in the hotel fridge. Sat still and quiet in deep reflectivity even when your legs wouldn’t stop moving.

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On day 84 you feel proud of everything you did. The smells and sounds and feelings of it all, now a ghost walking the corridor of the summer of your life.

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