Bonjour ma chèrie

Woke up with sun teasing my face, like it was telling me to get up and welcome it, like it felt it deserved. Me sleeping was in insult to a beautiful day dawning. I obeyed. Who am I to say no to the Paris sun? Is anyone entitled to that? Stroke the hair in my eyes to the sides, like a curtain that tried to shut it out but wasn't thick enough. Got out of my dress that smelled like cigarettes, plum wine and decadence. Like last night. Chloé was nowhere to be seen I realized after wandering the entire apartment with drunken steps. Poured some coffee and placed myself in the kitchen, said god morning to the eifeltower and found her note

Chérie,
petit déjeuner pour deux,
à tout de suite.
Ensemble c'est tout!
Biz C

Now thats love in four simple sentences. She knows me.

This one is for you

I carried a gun in my Chanel 2.55 once. A boy I liked left it in my apartment and I didn't want it there since it took my breath away everytime my eyes met it and not in a newly inlove kind of way. It apeared in my dreams at night, it controlled my thoughts so I gently folded some silk around it, put it down carefully and walked with determinded steps to the thames late one night with stars as my witnesses and droped it into the dark and forgiving water. The moon turned black for a split second and my heart stopped, then he returned and all was well. My bag was easy to carry again, and my feet had broken loose from their concrete foundation that they'd walked around with before. But now I miss it. It was a beautiful piece, something to put on top of a pile of books. The weight is incredible.

But it's gone, much like the boy I once liked. But Paris, loyal and beautiful Paris is still here and so is Chloè with her loving eyes.

A love letter sent to late

Paris called, and I answered with a hungry voice. I was just about starving when the sweet smell of croissants, macaroons and perfect café au lait filled me entierly with its warm and comforting sent. Chloé held me close, took my bag and told her driver to take us to a dark bar as fast as he could. Ten minutes later, dress change in the car and heels on, we were sipping perfect plum wine and wearing masks. Men came and went away again when we didn't respond to their bonsoir. We had eyes for each other only. Laugher lived next door to tears, in the same zip code as disaster and we loved with our hearts beating like one that night.

I'm sorry I left you all without a word, without a trace but sometimes my words run out. Like the hot water in Chloés apartment. And then you have no choice but to stay warm with wine and red pall malls instead. I hope you understand. But I've gathered some strength here while walking the streets of Paris. I wish I could have brought you all with me.

high flying bird

I guess that wasn't a new girlfriend I nearly whispered and swallowed down the taste of my uncomfortable question with black coffe, looked at him over the breakfast table and smiled carefully.

Paris is burning darling, the opium is running out just like the oil and soon we will all have to face what we've done to this planet we call home and what we've done to our souls. There are no records anymore worth buying. People can't spell and they don't use real words, it's all lol there and wtf here like those letters actualy has some value when put togheter. They slaughter the greatness that used to be the kings english and call it modern so please just pass the juice darling, he said and poured it into his gin.

I lit a cigarette, exhaled the smoke over my plate of pancakes and put my hand on his.

And besides, my heart beats for two girls. Thats enough to make it wanna burst with love he ends this bisar discussion with. And I wish I hadn't asked to begin with.

On such a timeless flight

In the middle of the night, with stars above me and my legs in the pool I sat quietly listening to my morning jackets version of Rocket man and I'm gonna be high as a kite by then sipping gin on the rocks. And then I saw her. Long dark hair with soft curls, a black dress touching the ground as she walked fast out from our house and into her car. She looked in the mirror and wiped away what I can only assume was tears under her eyes, or maybe it was dust and drove off. With the wind in her hair, a cigarette that left traces in the air and those lips that carried a colour of red wine - she looked like a heroine. Like someone who could take on the world. But that night she wouldn't.

She reminded me of myself. I washed away that disturbing thought with several large sips and dove into the pool. Cleansing myself.

So what if you'll catch me, where would we land?

There's no salvation for sinners like us.

We might as well be strangers

It's hard trying to compose something about how you feel, when feelings are new to you. Since I entered Lalaland I've been somewhat clear in my head, the haze from my pills have been absent which has shed a new light on everything. Making me experience things, for real and not from a distance. And that's both beautiful and awful.

When someone asks me how I really feel, I never have an answer for them. I rarely talk about emotions which might seem like a paradox to you, but there's an enormous difference in writing here and actualy saying the words out loud. I hide behind metaphores and song lyrics, photos and anger. I don't talk about what I write, I don't write like I talk. This right here, my words on a silly webpage is the most real I have ever been in my entire life. I think you know me more than I want to admit, I've invited you all into my dark and troubled mind and you always have love in your words when you write back, so I'm trying not to climb back into the cage where I used to put all my thoughts and emotions, I'm trying to take the open and honest Belle into to real world. Thing is, I'm scared. Everyone I've ever let in has left. But you haven't.