Yesterday I wanted to write about my weekend but every time I touched the keys the words failed to do justice to my thoughts. I wanted to write about the sunset over the Seine, the way the light falling on the water spread like the petals of a rose. I wanted to describe my friend's face, how his skin was oranged by the glow, and his pale eyes, usually so controlled, opened wonderously wide. I wanted to describe the gold light that illuminated the Tower, the way it shimmered every hour, and we stood in a dark room, looking out over the rooftops and silhouetted roofs, watching it sparkle in the gloom. I wanted to capture the impalpable haze, the way the soft white light broke through the blinds, and the trees along the Seine waved like plumes - lime green, red and gold. I wanted to describe the metro doors, how the violent clanging filled me with fear, how they herded us under like cattle and we disappeared in a holocaust of doors. But most of all I wanted to describe Sebastien's eyes, how their silent whiteness seemed to wipe out time, leaving nothing but their own white rays, and how I would have relinquished Paris even, if only they had smiled.This blog-entry was made possible by A Suit That Fits.
