L’Arc de Triomphe and La Tour d’Eiffel will never be the same. I am leaving Paris. Alone in the back of a taxi. The flat we occupied for a couple of days is empty. An unfinished bottle of Chablis left behind. To me a symbol for the sequence of eternal moments we’ve lived here. They will remain here. And I will part from them. Only memories travel along. With me in a little black dress and a rain coat that was given to me. By him. The finest love of my life. I am confused. The taxi driver puts on soft violin music. My favorite. Outside the sun is shining bright. It’s incredible. The violin reminds me of Tchaikovsky. His violin concerto in D major, opus 35 I used to have on cassette and play endlessly in my small little room at Jardin du Luxembourg, some twenty five years ago. I hadn’t got a clue at the time that the years back then shaped and moulded me to an extend that the experiences of the past few days seem to relate directly to it. The effort, energy and enthusiasm I’d confided to Paris come back to me. The life I live turns out very different then I would have thought. Although I never visualized or fancied any particular course in life. I am astonished as to how I find myself in the back of this Parisien taxi. Talking to the driver. Who asks me if I live in Paris. One day I will buy an apartment here I decide. To honor both my parents, the special man I was so fortunate to spend some time with and the incredible love that Paris endows me with. I am happy. I’ve found my way.


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