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Bonjour Paris!

Can I think while dancing? I think not. I think with my heart and my heart is dancing. You are me and I am with you. My heart is dancing and ideas start pouring in – yes, even without the rain, the English rain that seems so far in the distance now that I have laid my eyes on the Seine again this morning. They appear before me like images from a movie, like things that have happened for me, and they are as real as the tears that touch my smiling lips that I can taste it.

Ah to be free! Ah to be uncompromisingly oneself! What a blissful curse it may seem to be! To walk one’s solitary miles and smile at ordinary gulls flying by for there is nothing ordinary about gulls flying by while you’re walking your solitary miles, let alone by the Seine. I smile when something makes me cry for there is nothing ordinary about being touched, by something, by anything at all. I don’t want to seek anymore, Paris. I don’t want to seek you, or myself, or where you and myself come from. I just want to be – the true you, my true self, the truth.

You’d say I’m losing my mind, Paris, talking this way. But my mind has to melt to flow with my heart, which has been melting every hard decision presented before my eyes, that my eyes become watery, for more images like in a movie come to me as my heart is dancing where life is flowing. That I think with my heart, can I think while my heart is dancing? I think not.

I spent almost a week with my pier neighbour in Chelsea on his charmingly rustic barge, without central heating – we’re working on it – but with hot water supply and endless passionate conversations over hot meals we cooked for each other. Last night my friends Sandy and Julien in Nation welcomed me back into their warm family home with delicious soup – I had two helpings: one for my tummy, one for my soul! I ran two miles this morning and walked a little along the Seine, spying Notre Dame in the distance with giddiness in my body before picking up mini viennoiseries from the local boulangerie. I am now back in bed, sitting here not feeling blue, spilling my heart to you: Paris, Paris, que je m’en fou!

For ah to feel loved! Ah to feel abundant and free! To constantly be in the right place at the right time is the only way to be. It’s the only way to see when one sees with one’s heart – with one’s dancing heart at that.

The shadow of the balcony flowers on the white curtains have disappeared; the day is getting higher and it is soon time to get ready and lunch with my Katie and break her heart a little when I tell her I have now made up my mind that I won’t be going to Barcelona with her this week. But she’ll understand. She and my dear friend Fabiola in that warmer part of the continent will understand I have a momentum going with something I’m currently writing, and I am in the right place at the right time to keep it going. Their understanding shall mend their hearts, and their love shall make their hearts dance, like mine.

I’m loving you, Paris. The words are flying, assembling themselves around me. The scenes are directing themselves for me; things are happening for me. The feelings are beautifully flowing as my heart is dancing. Ah to receive! Ah to allow! Can my heart think while dancing? Does it need to?

paris, le 8 février 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.