When I stepped outside the big police station at la Cité, I had a strong sense of letting go, of giving up. It was, surprisingly, soothing, almost like a relief. I tried to walk slowly, being gentle with my fragile whole being, and tender with my wounded, worn-out heart. My eyes were still swollen of tears from last night but I know somehow I’d get better, faster this time.
I walked around the Flower Market, lingering over the autumn camellias. Should I take one home? I long for having one ever since falling for them in a book for Kyoto gardens. In the end, I thought it might be better off without me. “You’ll meet someone else that has enough space and conditions for you to grow. Some day, some day…”
Shakespeare & Co’s warm and old vibe calmed me down. Inside this ancient cave of stories and knowledge, thoughts always flooded out, bittersweet, abundant. It was as if there were a plug in me that got taken out every time I sat down in the dark wooden bench in Children’s books cute little chamber. As long as I was surrounded by books, I was protected, understood and accepted. Books and art supplies, and plans and dreams, and friendship and love. It’s gonna be okay, eventually. Sometimes, I thought I actually belonged to another universe, and I was just passing by this life, accidentally.
There was this habit of looking up at the skies, at the trees, at the moon and stars, and whispering inside, “Please take me if you can.”