They all will be faded memories soon. Memories of "the good days". Memories of my time in Paris. Memories of youth.
Es sind die guten Zeiten, die uns am Ende noch erhalten bleiben und zusammenschweißen für ein Leben lang. - Bakkushan
Now this is the memory, I give it to you, as a present, future-self. Future-Lotta.
Fly with me once again to the beginning of this year, to the anxiety and the lonliness. Fly me to "all den Abenden, die wir verschwendet haben" (all the nights we wasted), or show me the faces of all those people again who I have kissed. Replay the dates, the rendez-vous, the embarrasing and the romantic moments. Show me again all the movies, like I saw them for the first time. The movies that touched my heart so much that it was hard to get back to reality after. "About time", "Her", "Prisoners", "Labour Day", "States of Grace" (Short term 12) and many more ...
The tension, give it to me one last time, when "PLUS DE PASSION, PLUS D'EMOTIONS" was flitting over the screen. Let me walk that walk from the cinema back to my house, my home, once again, in the rain. Lost in my own world of thoughts, my lonely mind, in such an urge to let it all out, to talk, to write, to communicate my feelings. And yet not able to verbalize all that is happening inside of me.
Bring me back to the weekends with my girls, the card games and the talking afternoons at Lea's. The times when we were drunk and the times when we were sober. Rewatch with me all seasons of Doctor's Diary and Gossip Girl again. Fall again, head over heels for that American art student. Tinder... does it ring a bell? And all the exciting opportunities you had? You could be the girl you wanted to be. You could decide who you wanted. You could reinvent who you were before.
Bring me back to the night that I cried in the dark, in January. To all the sorrow I poured into that little notebook with the hearts on it. Remind me painfully of my desperate thoughts and my distress. That I knew, that I divined, something would happen, something that would seperate someone from me who had been indispensable to me. Show me again how hopeless and afraid I was for that friendship, even if I knew we could make it. Somehow.
Let me please reread and re-listen (in this context) all our hour-long chat and hangout-conversations about all and nothing. His philosophical blog entries that kept me awake for too long. And let me hold him again, one last time, like I did this one night in December when it was so hard to say Goodbye.
Can I hold you, one last time, to fight the fear that is growing in my mind? - The Kooks
Let me get to know Simon again, have an amazing time with fake laser guns and my girls and let me laugh again until I have to cry or spit my whole drink over the table. I just want to have a hundred more sleep overs with Nuan and make spaghetti with Thea and talk too long and be waaay too late for everything after that. I want to ride home on the 75 bus from Lea's house to mine and watch German "Tatort" and scrounge from her meals again.
And please let me forget all these wonderful books that I read. So that I can read them again for the first time. Show me my basil plant that I killed and the new plant which has taken its place and blossoms very nicely because the lack of water doesn't seem to bother it.
Show me my little room under the roof with the fluffy black carpet I dragged through half of the city (IKEA adventures). Show me the bed and the shower and the black and white pictures I put on the wall. Show me this tiny room again that was my safety, my island. And the rainbows in front of my window, over the rooftops of Paris.
And the Eiffel Tower, how it looked on my first evening with the girls. Or how it looked when I sat there eating Maccarons in the sun with my best friend in March. Fly me one last time through the streets, the Canal, the Seine, the Ponts, let me remark all the little details and the street art for which I always loved to stop my walk and stare. Let me ride on a vélib bike for hours and hours again, feeling the heap wind on my face like a summer breeze or an ice cold hand (depending on the weather).
The warm touch of the sun on my skin and just inhaling Paris.
And if it's really like that, like it is said in "The Five People You Meet in Heaven" (Mitch Albom)... that there will be one place in this world where you will have to pass an eternity of time until someone dies and comes to you so that you can teach him a lesson (because you're one of the 5 people he meets in heaven)... then let it be Paris for me. Let me be there forever. In a time helix, like on the island in "Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children" (Ransom Riggs), where this one summer never comes to an end.
Where I never have to grow up, like Pippi Langstrumpf or Peter Pan. Where I can be me. Where I can be "mutterseelenallein" (all by myself) and still as happy as I never had been before in my entire life.
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| The Eiffel Tower. How it looked on this first evening. Pure perfection. Lived clichés. |
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