Audrey Hepburn was right when she said that Paris is always a good idea. But to me, it was morethan an idea,
it was a longing I’m willing to satisfy. I just arrived here a day ago and I’ll have my next 5
days exploring the city. This is a present for my 18
birthday, a celebration of some sort. But calling ita celebration feels eerie knowing that it took every ounce of effort and amount of money just to travel
alone. Too bad my family isn’t here to witness the happiness I’m feeling. This
had right after my plane landed. However, subconsciously, I know I want to be alone.
c and all, but inside of me I am dying to find myself and find someone else who’d help me
find it. For once, I wanted to try and catch a butterfly that would accompany me to color myuninteresting life.
Impossible? But there’s so much that can happen in a
week, and part of it is anobligation to spend every minute and cent frugally.~By morning, I decided to go to a street side cafe near my inn. I could certainly use a cup of coffee anda couple of Macarons, making it a little head start for the first day of strolling around. I sat there allalone, indulging with the order that I once saw on the menu. The air was a frosty cold but the sun wasup, and staring at the white
table cloth didn’t help either. But I’m in Paris,
what more could I ask for? Itook my brown Satchel and brought out my blue moleskin journal in the hopes of accounting my very
first street side cafe experience. But it felt too petty so I’m sketching inste
ad, and on the next pagesituated a list of books, records to buy, and places I shall be heading off to. As I was carefullysketching the peak of the Eiffel Tower located across me, a guy blocked the very view that I could seeand all of a sudden he was seated at a table ahead, mirroring me. He was wearing khaki trousersover tucked-in red plaid long sleeves. He looked in shape and his skin alabaster, whose rosy lips
were unusual for a guy. He looked French but I wish he doesn’t speak any as I was dense enough tospeak the language, other than saying “Bonjour”, “Mademoiselle” or “Monsieur”.
Just as he wasseated, he took off his aviator shades and unearthed striking green eyes that gently looked down andtowards me. He ran his hands through the strands of his dark chestnut hair that was styled, slightlytousled but never even a single glance looked half messy. He is, I must say gorgeous, but gorgeousis such an understatement for a guy that looked like him. His guise is like that of either of the Harries
brothers, only that he’s more than in between, a lot cuter, almost perfect. Just when I noticed he wasstaring, I realized I’ve been gazing at him all along. And I wasn’t focusing on my journal, o
r the EiffelTower or even the sketch that I was doing, I was rather focused upon him. After that, he put his brownpad and his book
Catcher in the Rye
, right on his table. I never became aware of those two objectshe was holding, but then again, I made him my focal point and the other things became relatively