Paris has often broken my heart. Our tryst began when I was 19, studying at the Sorbonne, as I stumbled through language, culture, youthful romance and John Kennedy’s assassination, learning otherness in a core-defining way. Over the next decades, I ended two marriages in Paris — feeble, last-ditch efforts — “if not in Paris, where?” The answer, of course, was nowhere. But last year I returned again, and my love and I renewed vows taken twenty-four years earlier by placing a padlock on an iron ring of the quai and tossing the keys into the Seine. We returned once more this spring and found our lock, glinting gold with other locks from other lovers.
twilight in Paris
blossoms amid cobblestones
je t’aimerais toujours
A haibun written for dVerse to illustrate kintsugi — the art of broken pieces made beautiful. Come join the fun.