Paris

Paris was the world in between. A suspended entity. Neither my home, nor the foreign land where I lived. Neither the origin not the destination. Just a stop along the way, where I witnessed sunrise after sunrise, year after year, as I waited for the next bus the next flight the next journey.

So how is it that my heart has chosen Paris a home to calm its erratic beat? How did the world in between become the world my spirit craves? Is it that in those moments in time - surrounded by strange people strange tongues strange skies - I feel most like who I used to be? Paris was the world in between; now it's the only world I come to know peace.