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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. Non, non, non! That would be too easy. Cabaret Canaille is on at Theatre 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 ‘whys’ 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 learn about myself from the world. I learn 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 temperatures 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!

d.o.