Il a neigé. It snowed, Paris. It snowed in Paris
and I'm staying inside. My head. I threw away
my train ticket back to London last night, so
I get to spend another day and a half here, mostly
to convince myself that Paris is still a good
idea. That, and the morning brioche from the
local boulangerie brought to bed. My poor Paris,
having to deal with more of my heavy thoughts
for a little bit more of cuddle time. You thought
it was a good idea, do you still think so now
after the hours-long walk inside my head? Doesn't
matter, the fresh brioche cheered us up. I'm
supposed to send my French long-stay visa application
as soon as I get back in London so that you are
so close and so within reach now, it seems. We
could finally walk together without much interruption.
But it snowed. My melancholy snowed on our parade.
My doubts made me feel cold. My questions about
the world exhausted me. I'm too exhausted to
say anything this morning. It's time for my melancholy
to melt away, don't you think? It's time to gather
the courage and step out there, outside my head.
No, no, no. That would be too easy. Cabaret Canaille
is on at Théâtre Michel tonight, and I know I'll
lighten up as soon as I see my talented friends
perform and drink champagne with me. The challenge
is to get back inside my head without getting
worked up. Then to translate things up there
into words and take the risk of being even slightly
misunderstood but aim to be understood anyhow.
Whatever it takes. Why are these questions so
important to me? Why do I want to know why things
happen? Why do I want to know why people do or
don't do things? Why does it bother me when my
why's aren't answered? Because without a why,
I wouldn't know how? I feel like I want to go
home. but do I have a home? And for how long?
Does it matter? Haven't I decided that home is
within me? It has to be within me to warrant
a long stay and... thus, stability. Perhaps I
don't feel like I can go back to myself peacefully.
I learned about myself from the world. I learned
about the world from you. You are a representation
of the world to me. You are my world. And when
I'm not convinced the world is aligned with what
I believe in, the truth, I suffer. Is 'within me',
liveable? I sometimes feel like I need a special
visa to go back home to myself and I don't know
if I have the sufficient documents and thus rights
to reside. I am an immigrant in my own mind.
I need permissions for my movement. No, only
when I mean to bring someone in. What? Doesn't
matter. It snowed in Paris. and I only saw it
from the Velux windows. It snowed within me too,
and I felt trapped between these two cold realms.
I can't control the weather out there, and to
be fair, I cannot complain. I get what I'm given.
Why can't I control the weather within me? I
don't want to switch my inner temperature suddenly,
even if it was the key to longevity--I doubt
it. I want to go through the winter safely, preferably
with you, until the sun, the new understanding,
organically warms up the space and I, or we,
can plant something that can grow, at least until
the next winter, which could come in the next
week or half an hour. Until then, Paris is still
on, and happiness is still a possibility. Paris.
Le 23 novembre 2025. Je t 'embrasse.