It's been a month

It's been a month since i've actually blogged here and i guess from the previous post to this post . A lot has changed . Or at least i think a lot has changed . For some strange reason, my stay in paris has become significantly less "exciting" than it previously was . i would like to think that it's the transition period from being a tourist in a foreign country and really living in another country . Maybe i shouldn't say significantly, but like the temperature here in Paris lately , it's been a little crazy . Maybe it's because of my dead ibook . Having less time on my laptop , the greatest form of distraction in the entire world , i have all this time on my hands to think about pointless things , evaluate and reflect about the things in my life and think about the things i want to go and think about the future and other melancholy causing things . Not to mention people are slowly leaving one by one and as shakespeare says " parting is such sweet sorrow" .. and sweet sorrow it is . It's a love hate relationship i have with paris and it's denizens . It's like talking to a beautiful wall , drinking plain water from the most exquisite glass . A dark side to all that is shiny and nice .

It's sorta like being in a relationship i think. Complete with it's own overactive imaginations , anger , love and hate. What's perculiar is that everytime i travel outside of paris , the journey on the way back into paris is particularly poignant as a sense of relaxed happiness creeps into my mind . Feels like coming home . Coming home to paris , waiting to welcome you back with open arms , only to find out the next day that it slaps you on face and asking you to face reality . Such is the relationship i have with paris . You would want everything to be perfect and logical but it's not . You wish everything could be perfect and logical but it's anything but it . You wake up with reminders of things beyond you control that would piss you off and leave you feeling jilted and down . Yep . indeed , it's like talking to a beautiful wall . I like that expression i came up with . Perhaps something closer to heart would be a french person talking to you . You don't understand jackshit , but it's still a beautiful language . I think melancholy driven prose in a blogger post are the worse to read . So to summarise in a poem , or maybe to elaborate .

Like the broken record , the meaning is understood and then lost .
The fleeting affair , the empty lingering stares waiting to be read .
The moment passes by in wisps of smoke , dissapates into thin air
Romance and regret intertwined , never to part .

I think i need a drink . Or 2 .