I woke up in Paris.
It is a warm summer morning. I am exhausted after travelling. I couldn’t sleep again. There is a feeling of anxiety that has been unsettling me. I am not quite sure of what is it about.
I woke up in Charles de Gaulle Airport. for the 7th time this year.
Oh my dear Paris. You used to be my absolute love and now I feel that an endless halo of melancholy covers you.
So many memories. Good and bad.
I have not been not even once this year in La France, and to think how many times I used to devour you, every month, every season…
This morning, I decided to recreate you and your tastes. A petite pistachio macaroon from Laduree to effortlessly compliment my morning espresso… some things should never change. Routine, créatures d’ habitude et de routine, this is what we are.
Once my coffee is as it should be, I start writing in my red moleskine – a present. I cannot reach flow otherwise.
The sun is rising and shines over my face. I smile. I am hiding under my red cap. I am happy reflecting on my own observations as if I were to discover the secrets of this life. I think of you. The memories of what should be and it is not saddens me… what should have been and will never be…
I woke up in Paris.
Artemisa Jaramillo 