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I’m listening, Paris. To the waves in your river. To the wind by the canal. To the past-midnight steps my boat shoes drag. To the growing space between the last kiss and the next. I’m listening to the silence that is trying to heal the banging noises in my head – the literal ones too. 

This is supposed to be a relaxed stay, Paris. No art events planned or had to be organised. I came this time to just be with myself, with you. 

Yes, I ended up doing a jazz crawl in Châtelet with easy access from an old friend, if only to trace my solitary steps through jazz bars that gained me so many friends in the past. 

Yes, I ended up going to a march against sexual violence from Bastille to Nation – I promise you it wasn’t because a man followed me in a quiet street at four am recently asking to have ten minutes with me for 15 euros on my walk home from Le Baiser Salé, where so many things have changed. I had to shout in protest to this man before I managed to turn right and join two men walking ahead of me before he stopped following me, after aggressively asking for five  minutes for the same money. I mean, 100 euros and we could discuss things, right? But 15 euros?! And five minutes?! I really shouldn’t joke about it; it’s a privilege to be able to joke about it. I escaped violence – a privilege many couldn’t have, a privilege I couldn’t have in the past. 

Yes, I ended up joining my model friends, new Parisians fresh from Switzerland, dancing until closing time at Le Comptoir Général last night. Well, I got to escape to sit and lean back by Canal Saint Martin every so often, with my handsome friend sacrificing his urge to dance and constantly rolling cigarettes for me and patiently listening to my deep philosophical talk – what are air signs like! 

Yes, I’m going to see my theatre director friend’s “Antigone” production at Théâtre de Poche with Sandy later this afternoon and an apéro at my book cover and layout designer’s tomorrow afternoon, maybe swimming in the river Seine in the morning too since the bagnades were officially opened yesterday.

Hmm, I guess this is as relaxed as I get in Paris, or am I just bad at keeping still? Well, at least I know I feel safer and more secure at saying no; all these happenings were my asks. I reached out to all these friends thinking now that I have some free time I should give it to them because I care and because I want to put myself through new experiences, or even old experiences with a new taste, in a relaxed manner.

At least I’m ignoring someone (I slightly fancied) from a party in Paris ten years ago, who messaged me out of the blue, after ten years, on my recent solitary walk tinged with sadness from Soho back to my boat in Chelsea – Mercury retrograde, you’ve got to try harder to distract my bull’s eye focus on someone I have decided to get to know, at my own risk, with zero hedging against a heartbreak.

I’m still listening, Paris. I’m sitting in bed in the dark and I’m listening. To my fast imaginings and the slowing down of things in my surroundings. To my timid, restless heart and my determination to lower my guards. To the solemn tears washing away the soundless pain I woke up to this morning – I swear I had a perfect night saying goodbye outside Republique metro station and walking for an hour home with no one openly harassing me. 

Where time and distance seem irrelevant, I’m listening to you. Perhaps you’ll listen to me too.

paris, le 5 juillet 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.