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Il a neigé. It snowed, Paris. It snowed in Paris

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and I'm staying inside. My head. I threw away

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my train ticket back to London last night, so

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I get to spend another day and a half here, mostly

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to convince myself that Paris is still a good

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idea. That, and the morning brioche from the

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local boulangerie brought to bed. My poor Paris,

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having to deal with more of my heavy thoughts

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for a little bit more of cuddle time. You thought

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it was a good idea, do you still think so now

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after the hours-long walk inside my head? Doesn't

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matter, the fresh brioche cheered us up. I'm

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supposed to send my French long-stay visa application

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as soon as I get back in London so that you are

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so close and so within reach now, it seems. We

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could finally walk together without much interruption.

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But it snowed. My melancholy snowed on our parade.

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My doubts made me feel cold. My questions about

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the world exhausted me. I'm too exhausted to

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say anything this morning. It's time for my melancholy

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to melt away, don't you think? It's time to gather

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the courage and step out there, outside my head.

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No, no, no. That would be too easy. Cabaret Canaille

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is on at Théâtre Michel tonight, and I know I'll

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lighten up as soon as I see my talented friends

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perform and drink champagne with me. The challenge

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is to get back inside my head without getting

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worked up. Then to translate things up there

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into words and take the risk of being even slightly

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misunderstood but aim to be understood anyhow.

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Whatever it takes. Why are these questions so

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important to me? Why do I want to know why things

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happen? Why do I want to know why people do or

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don't do things? Why does it bother me when my

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why's aren't answered? Because without a why,

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I wouldn't know how? I feel like I want to go

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home. but do I have a home? And for how long?

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Does it matter? Haven't I decided that home is

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within me? It has to be within me to warrant

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a long stay and... thus, stability. Perhaps I

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don't feel like I can go back to myself peacefully.

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I learned about myself from the world. I learned

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about the world from you. You are a representation

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of the world to me. You are my world. And when

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I'm not convinced the world is aligned with what

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I believe in, the truth, I suffer. Is 'within me',

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liveable? I sometimes feel like I need a special

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visa to go back home to myself and I don't know

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if I have the sufficient documents and thus rights

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to reside. I am an immigrant in my own mind.

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I need permissions for my movement. No, only

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when I mean to bring someone in. What? Doesn't

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matter. It snowed in Paris. and I only saw it

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from the Velux windows. It snowed within me too,

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and I felt trapped between these two cold realms.

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I can't control the weather out there, and to

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be fair, I cannot complain. I get what I'm given.

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Why can't I control the weather within me? I

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don't want to switch my inner temperature suddenly,

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even if it was the key to longevity--I doubt

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it. I want to go through the winter safely, preferably

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with you, until the sun, the new understanding,

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organically warms up the space and I, or we,

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can plant something that can grow, at least until

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the next winter, which could come in the next

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week or half an hour. Until then, Paris is still

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on, and happiness is still a possibility. Paris.

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Le 23 novembre 2025. Je t 'embrasse.