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My heart is still, Paris. More still than the calm water outside my bedroom’s portholes. It feels so still it doesn’t seem to flow, yet it is full. Everything I have put in there has not gone anywhere, and yet it feels bearable. More than bearable. It feels joyful.

It’s been twelve days and London isn’t the same without you approaching on my calendar. What do I know – I haven’t been in London for more than a couple of days at a time these days. All I know is that I’ve been focused on feeling I’m in the right place at the right time.

The Thai festival near London Bridge yesterday evening was the right place at the right time for my hungry self – to share with my ex-neighbour in Paris the joy of panic queueing for delicious food as everything seemed to get sold out so early, and to laugh out loud about an ultra-happy man dancing to an ultra-loud Kuch Kuch Hotta Hai in front of the eating crowd by the river. The latter brought so many mixed memories, which were all included in my pursuit of joy.

I followed the joy to meet another friend who wanted to dance by the Royal Festival Hall before meeting another friend and moving to Between the Bridges for some 90s music. It was definitely the right place at the right time to scream along and dance to Backstreet Boys and to warn my friends that I would be leaving by ten and to stick to it, because apparently everyone else got some place else to go too!

The solitary walk along the river was joyful, albeit short, even the hunger for kisses ignited by the lit-up Hungerford Bridge was thoroughly enjoyable. Well, you might say I’d enjoy the kisses more but it’s a matter of perspective. In any case, I’m excited to test the perspective from midday onward.

I’m excited and yet my heart is still, Paris. It’s still, like the space between you and my inner self. That space isn’t empty either. Everything I put in there hasn’t gone anywhere. Everything I put in there is what closes the gap between us that the physical space becomes irrelevant.

Oh, how dangerous it sounds to deem irrelevant the physical proximity and to banish the longing for a carnal embrace if I didn’t know myself that well. Trust me, Paris; I’m a good savourer. When I touch and taste, I touch and taste not only the colourful nuances but also the essence. The essence is always good because it is a reflection of myself, however it looks. And the essence goes deep so it makes it into my heart with everything else that I put in there.

Is my heart full of my collection of reflections of myself? I think the answer is yes (I’m a Libra, my overthinking mind still thinks when I’m certain). Yes, it is full of my collection of reflections of myself, I think – how else am I supposed to learn about myself! And I have learned so much about her. Are they all good? Hell, no! According to certain perspectives, anyway. But I have learned to accept that I can trust myself with everything that I am – good or gooder.

What do I do about the non-existent plan in my diary then? (I haven’t got a diary). Nothing. I’m good at doing nothing. That sounds dangerous too, doesn’t it? Again, if I didn’t know myself that well. Trust me, I’m very good at getting things done that I am often mistaken as a go-getter. I am more of a relaxed-receiver. I think my heart is doing just that; it’s getting things done. By being still.

londres, le 19 juillet 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.