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Oh, what a week, Paris!

It’s nice to finally stay in one city, albeit not you, for more than 24 hours – my sore arms, from carrying a heavy tote from train to train, sorely agree. I’ve been spending a lot of time with different people too this week and, though it still sucks my energy, it’s nice to finally feel unaffected by others’ chaotic noises worrying about things they cannot control while being indifferent about things they should actually do something about, like all the injustice done onto others, par exemple. I remain stubborn in my trust in everything good and my capacity to make the best out of any circumstances.

Circumstances have helped reveal myself to me, Paris, even the ones I put myself into – especially the ones I put myself into, like breaking up with a French boyfriend while clearly my British passport needs a visa to even spend more than 90 days every 180 days in Paris, never mind the stages of grief and heartbreak I’ve had to navigate around.

But spring is here now, Paris, and though times are uncertain, it’s nice to finally know oneself so well without the urge to explain it to anyone else; to be hopeful – like the mirror across this bed; and unwavering – like the reflection of the flat sheet draping on the floor. There are better analogies, I’m sure, but this is me making the best out of my circumstances, not being able to help myself but see the beauty of where I am, not wondering where I’ll next be knowing I am always in the right place at the right time. Also, did I say ‘flat sheet’? I must be a grown up! And did I say ‘dripping’? No, I did not say that – don’t get ideas!

In the mirror, I can see my hair is growing longer, and so is my patience with our current physical separation, Paris (two weeks already!) for I know myself and the certainty of my desire to be with you in the best possible ways. There will be no ‘by any means’, there will be no compromising myself for it only feels good when my actions are aligned with my principles, even with the illusion of hardships.

I want all the basic illusions about how one should live, or indeed how one should live happily in this world, to be exhausted – like the guilt at night for not having produced anything worth selling that day; like the tinge of self-pity for not being in a steady relationship; like making money the goal instead of seeing it as one of the means to feel liberated; like feeling rich only when having instead of giving; like the joy of being exclusive or making arts inaccessible to people. Oh, what a dreamer I am even when I’m awake! Especially when I’m awake.

Someone asks me recently what a good day looks like for me, and my answer is I don’t have a typical day. I could be running around the train stations with a heavy tote bag on my sore arm and I’d be having a good day; I could be terribly sketching a postcard in a café; I could be cuddling my teenage daughter and her cat; I could be sitting in a theatre being inspired or unimpressed by a performance; I could be walking in the rain with tears on my face; or I could be having a picnic in a park with someone having a socialist talk as a form of flirtation while sketching each other very badly.

I’m rejoicing in this very hour of freedom, to breathe and to write my heart out from this warm barge on the River Thames under the Albert Bridge and to reach your ears and your heart’s peripheries and make you feel less alone, maybe even less afraid, amidst the uncertainties of your life, of our life. I already said I’m a dreamer, and I know I’ll rejoice in making my coffee and catching up with my chatty boat friend before deciding what wonderful troubles I’ll get myself into after.

londres, le 22 mars 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.