It wasn’t sunny, I remember that much. The day had gone from long to longer, my fears had been established, wiped away, disposed into some irrelevant space of mind. If I could dismiss that initial fear, I found, before getting it grow, then thereafter I could be fearless.
The shopping ways were long before the Arch de Triumph, with windows taunting Ferraris, pastries, long-legged mannequins. I’d never have any of it, I felt so lost. A metro sign appeared, I skimmed the stairs and jumped aboard. The subway was different when I was alone. There was no way to determine if it was safe, and I tried to lose myself in thought and focus on my stop rather than think of those staring at me with shifty French eyes. I had to be fearless.
Clouds were overhead and soaked in an air much similar to a day I’d spent discovering London. I imagined the day with sun. A garden came into sight, a really beautiful arrangement of trees and benches. I was lost, I knew where I was, I was lonely, I was content. The Louvre was set straight ahead, couples were sprinkled amidst the trees, fountains and grasses. I saw a lone chair sitting in the middle of a dusty patch and advanced.
And as much as I’d like to deny, or maintain that I was completely satisfied, I would have given a great bit to have seen someone at my side, smiling, curious, dust on their feet.
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