Gay Paris

Our plane touched down in Paris just after sunset, which meant we couldn’t see the city so much as it’s dimly lit outline through a veil of soft rain. She’d been before, I hadn’t. She had been waiting for almost as long as we’d known each other to see my reaction to this, ‘the city I was meant to be born in’ and I’m sure I didn’t disappoint: every depiction I’d seen, read and heard about the city immediately seemed trite. Tears mingled with rain on my cheek as we walked out of the airport; finally, I was able to breath Paris. I breathed deeply.


This entry was posted in Creative Non-Fiction, Dreams, Journals and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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