WEBVTT

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Staying close. That's what I want, Paris. Staying

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close. I'm staying close to you when the rain

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tiptoes on the skylight window in the morning.

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When water splashes the porthole of my room like

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a waving scarf. When I hear my footsteps on the

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barge floor in the middle of the night. When

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my breath speaks slowly to my mind. when tears

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gently cleanse my face. I'm ready, Paris. I feel

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ready to allow everything that you are to come

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to everything that I am. Like allowing the constant

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sway of the waves, sometimes gently and makes

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my beautiful dresses on the hangers dance a foxy,

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sometimes less gentle and makes banging noises

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outside. constant sway with various levels of

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gentleness that gives a sense of familiarity

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without diminishing newness and vice versa. I'm

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ready. But I'm feeling sleepy. I'm feeling sleepy,

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Paris. Like there's this lullaby caressing my

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head and putting a warm blanket over my body.

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Or is it just my nervous system feeling so at

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home knowing you're staying close, which I feel

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so deeply each morning after my first night with

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you? You're staying close as I walk along the

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River Thames and admire the red brick houses

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with white window frames on Albert Bridge Road.

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As I indulge my senses in the theatre or the

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cinema. As I let things happen. As my entire

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life unfolds. Not before me, but through me.

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You're staying close as I write my story, as

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I talk to you this way. Half asleep, I can hear

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my steps as if I'm walking down the metro station

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with such certainty. I can smell the Parisian

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air, which never offends me, as if I'm strolling

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on your boulevards and medieval streets. I can

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taste the coffee and the wine as if I'm sitting

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in your cafes and interacting with people in

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my mind. I can hear French and some Italian being

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spoken from various corners as if I'm just slowly

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going about my day in the city. I can hear jazz

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as if I'm in one of your sexy venues. I can feel

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my body moving as if I'm dancing with my friends.

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I can feel my right hand moving as if I'm turning

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a page in the metro. I can hear my keyboard tapping

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sound as if I'm concentrating by the window overlooking

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your neighbourhood. I can feel your warmth all

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over my body as if I'm in bed with you. I can

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feel the smile on my face as if my day is complete.

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Though I smile throughout the day too. Yep, I'm

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that smiling Parisian you can't escape in the

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street. You have been with me through it all,

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Paris. Even in those moments where I seem to

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be oblivious of you. Even in those moments where

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you seem to be oblivious of me. Though I know

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now you've never been oblivious of me. You have

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your gaze steady upon me. If time existed between

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us, I'd say this has been a long time in the

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making. But I see that you are my block universe,

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Paris. Where everything happens beyond time.

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Where all phases in my life melt together and

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are aware of each other. I love you beyond space

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that you don't cease to exist when I'm not physically

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there. My awareness of your existence is the

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confirmation of my existence. And everything

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expands as I steady my gaze upon you. I'm feeling

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sleepy, Paris. Though something is waking up

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inside of me. With every slow breath that I take,

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with every letter that I pour out onto the white

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page in front of me, I'm dropping the struggle.

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Harder than when I dropped writing 17 years ago

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because someone told me I should chase stability

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instead. In that process, I almost lost myself

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instead. But it is not possible to lose myself

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with you, Paris. The illusion of stability that

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have kept you away from me for so long, let it

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all crumble until I'm naked again, and staying

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close. Staying close. I'm not with you, Paris: I am you.

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le premier fevrier 2026, je t'embrasse !
