Happy holidays

Happy holidays lovers. Christmas eve in France.


Empty bottles of champagne. Old wooden floors punctuated by high heels throughout Christmas dances. When I was little I used to hide behind the two large glass doors that made the entrance to the parlour. There I could admire the wonderful skirts that twirled around the room to the rhythms of old jazz. The men were tall and handsome. The women beautiful with pale skin and blood red lips. Their diamonds made reflections of the sun on the walls, through the lights from thousands of candles. This Christmas was filled of that old jazz and dad poured whiskey from the old crystal carafe I love so much. He served endless amounts of macrons and sang to me with closed eyes. I dried empty three bottles of champagne myself and hummed all night.


When the party had died, all the presents had been unwrapped and all the guests were either in their guest beds or long gone home, I took the last bottle and emptied the tray with macrons. Danced to myself while humming. Then I fell asleep on the floor and dreamt about the Parisian sky and C and the sunrise and him and more champagne. It was quite a silent holy day. To be honest.

the beginning of everything else

I spent months in Paris. Drank red wine in the morning, drank even more in the afternoon. C taught me how to make french pastries and so that was what we did. For hours we then sat on the roof, sipping red wine while we ate it all up. On Sundays we traded the red for bubbles and gave the sweets away to the neighbours boy. It was comfortable, life weren't too hard at that time.. 

Then at some point we got restless, needed more. We left the apartment and started wandering the streets. We found secret after parties, slept in public places, made love at a club and discovered where to go when nothing else welcomes you. At this time, there were only two of us left. He'd gone back home, had some things to take care of. He told me to keep on living my summer dream and hold onto it as long as it lasted. Then come back home. Well, that was harder than I thought it'd be..

would you still have me, darlings?

It was all black. For another thousands of years, it would continue to be black..

That was the feeling I had when the summer ended, and it was still there when the autumn started. And now, when winter's here, I suddenly feel like the cotton swimming around in my head are starting to drop out. Letters are starting to put words together, thoughts come easier and tend to stay for a whole second. I've been woken up again, I'm here again, and oh how I missed you all. 

Love,

A

and I was the neediest bitch in the room

So we flew away. And he fed me take out on the floor, stroke my hair and held my hand. The three of us took over the nights in Paris, listening to Louise Attaque all night long while emptying endless bottles of wine. We smoked cigarettes, forgot that we ever had voices and joined in a silent humming. Life was good and I felt safe. Yet I couldn't write it down, I couldn't say it out loud - I was stuck in a fantasy and we all know that those tend to slip away as soon as we make them public. I was happy as ever, still something was missing..


I stopped eating, had an exclusive relation with cigarettes and wine. Started again after too many disappointed looks from him. There were never any arguments, just the looks in his eyes and the times he turned away and disappeared into the night "to think".. I messed up and was minutes away from loosing it all. So I picked myself up from the street, with the help of my two big loves, my lovers in silk. And together we played the charade of life, still trying to figure out the lines, but it is always less hard when three sharing..

just what I needed

I told him I had to get away, get out. I said it in pain, after a bottle of wine, didn't think that he listened. Yet, when the weekend came I found my bags, packed, next to the door. He carried them out to the car, with a mysterious smile. He put a scarf in my hair, and we drew to the airport, cab down. He knows what a sucker I am for cliches. 


After a few hours.. we celebrated with bubbly wine so I lost track of time.. I found myself standing outside Cs door in Paris. She opened the door, took me in her arms and kissed me on the cheeks. Then she kissed my other love and showed him around in the apartment. It was the first time he had come to Paris with me, it was the first time they had ever met. Yet, somehow, it felt like we had always been there. Like the three of us, always lived together in Paris and that there were never a sea disconnecting us from each other...

Tuesday is fun day

Darlings. The sky turned grey and screamed out my name today. The apartment shivered and I searched for my cigarettes, they were nowhere to be found. Empty bottles in a line, all the way down the hallway to the bathroom. Empty bottles, dried out. No more soul, no more fun. Now is the time where we rest in each others arms. We get naked and expose our hearts during blurry nights à la woodstock, at least that's what they told me I did. Do we trust them? Can we? Love is all around and mother is keeping watch. I miss C and everything is upside down. Should I stay or should I go?

balcony blues

I missed you. I missed grapes, well mostly liquid ones. I missed guitar play, the balcony blues we had every Wednesday night. I missed having my fingers feel your shivering body. And I missed being one, two of the same kind, bound together by transparent thoughts and see-through skin. But now you're back. You know you have to teach me how to breath every time you're away, so why leave at all?


My heart was away, and then he came back. I am so lucky he's got that habit, it kinda makes me complete. Flickering, while he unbuttons my dress. Every time. Need of a pause, to catch my breath, in between kisses on the neck. Slowly arranging my limbs in place, posing, before he looks at me through the lens. I missed him.


I missed you too darlings. It just seem so hard these days..