Revolving Doors

by spaghettipirate

Life can be beautifully wonderful sometimes, and terribly strange. Sometimes our greatest moments come in times of greatest hardships and sometimes the most wonderful things can happen when you expect them the least.

I have met the most wonderful colorful people here and I only hope to continue. Sometimes I only know them for an afternoon sprawled out on the grass drinking wine and munching on crackers as we play on guitars that are out of tune, or sometimes I know them for the entire time they are in Paris. Sometimes it is only for a dinner as we are squashed in the narrow dimensions of Parisian resto’s, and we bump elbows.

Sometimes you can meet the most wonderful people in the street and for that one moment, there is a shared history. In every way every person has left a fingerprint. I cannot say that I will ever see the vast majority of them again – life is like that, sending us scattering, riding the four winds to the furthest reaches of the Earth – yet I have loved them dearly for they too have found me in a city as big and sometimes as lonesome as it gets. Sometimes I feel as if I have met a soul mate – that in the epoch of Facebook and social media I know that somehow, someday our paths will cross again because they are too special to let slip through my finer tips.

People shuffle in and people shuffle out of your life. But just like any bar that’s worth it’s salt, you’ll get the regulars who are in for the long haul. I have met some of the wost wonderfully varied people; speaking more languages that I could ever hope to learn. In a city that is as densely populated as this one is, it is easy to become the rough, rude, mean Parisian with the walls up and mechanical movements in an attempt to cordon yourself off from the tidal wave of people. This only gets worse as tourist season picks up and thousands filter through the metro lines. Huffy and hurried and blind to everything but your feet, it happens to everyone invariably who has stayed here long enough to know what it is to leave a cow town.

But sometimes, through happenstance or fortuitous circumstance people can come into your life and the effect they can have on you is profound. You go to bed dreaming of the afternoon and these strangers and who they are, and why in the moment you decided to exchange numbers and maybe you’ll see them again, as they invited you back to their place and to go out clubbing that night. It’s the sort of life that Paris can bring.

Meet people, know their stories. And I am often reminded of Pete’s people speech from the Muppet’s Take Manhattan because in some ways it is the most accurate depiction of what life in a big city is. You can find people, you can find music, and dancing, and tomatoes.

To my friends back home, across the lake impossibly far away,

Time flies by faster than I can even say. To me it was only weeks ago that there was snow on the ground and I still had my two coats on. Instead now I feel the sweat trickle down my back as the sun warms up my skin and my throat is parched replacing chapped lips. Spring is upon us and summer is set at full speed ahead and I know that I will be returning sooner home than I can blink.

Romance is in the air as the Paris air starts to smell of budding trees and occasionally cut grass as people sprawl out on bed sheets making impromptu picnics disregarding the “Do Not Sit On The Grass” signs.

Paris is a place to fall in love over and over again, a place where revolving doors constantly brings a stream of new people into your life, and on occasion, they keep coming back into your life.

A romantic notion perhaps, but can I help it? I am in Paris after all.

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