Passionate In Paris

I’m the daughter of a sewer and a book-worm, and the sister of the most compassionate boy in the world. I live in New Zealand but I left my heart in Paris, on the steps of the shining Sacré-Coeur. Some of the people I love wear silver bow rings and have tight curls and give fashion advice and rave to rap music and read their Bible and twirl their ponytail and teach me French slang and decorate with feathers and share soft hugs and squeeze my hand tight as the aeroplane takes off. If I love you that will involve bouncing and driving fast and cute texts and long conversations and star-gazing and second-hand book stores and pink wool and Frank Sinatra songs and tears and bottles of champagne and Oscar Wilde quotations and, above all, tender hugs and passionate prayers.

"Be pretty if you can, be witty if you must, but be gracious if it kills you." - Elsie de Wolfe

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  And I miss it! I miss the people and the tube and the grey-ness that has never seemed that depressing to me. The bedroom with the window recess, and the dairy on the way home from school and the sunroom where we used to hang our tutus and character shoes.

  London was my first hometown, and it occupies a large part of my history, so I guess it’s no wonder that I miss it with such heart-breaking clarity… Some days it just gets me, you know? 
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