Joie de Vivre

Grace was sitting at Café de Flore wearing a Marilyn Monroe shirt, reading Colette. The red upholstered benches, mahogany, mirrors, and marble walls, she adored the place. “Bonjour ma belle”, a cute waiter served her favorite hot chocolate with extra whip cream. “Merci”, she smiled. He gave her a napkin and pointed towards a handsome French guy sitting behind her. She looked at him, he waved with a dashing smile. She turned back and read what was written on the napkin.

Tu es belle dans cette robe.

I bet you like peonies and Manet. Considering the classics, you are consuming.

If I’m right, how about dinner at Baccarat?  Tonight?

-Victor.

He was definitely one of those guys who ‘wear their heart on their sleeve’. Trust had never been her first instinct but it was different in that moment. She adored Manet and peonies were her favorite. It was like a Richard Linklater film. Strangers sitting next to each other falling for each other.

Later that night, they had dinner and a lengthy conversation about the Impressionists. The French boy and American girl were falling in love. They spent the next few days roaming the streets of Paris on a Vespa and seeing the sights that the lovers call their own.  They had photographs taken beneath the Eiffel tower and in the Quasimodo pose outside of Notre Dame. Comfy couches and cushions at Shakespeare & Co, right in front of Notre Dame was a great persuasion to buy every other book including, “Parisian Chic”.

From the Eiffel tower to the French Riveria. The louvre where Mona Lisa hangs. A walk along the great Seine River and a lover’s lock on the bridge above the water. They were skipping through the Parisian streets just like any other madly in love couple. Storming the shops and shopping in Galeries Lafayette. Sitting there on one of those patios with the great view and sipping coffee with a soft accordion singing in the background, it felt like home to Grace. La vie est belle. Consuming almond meringue topped with whipped cream and all other sugary snacks like a modern Marie Antoinette. She loved Laduree and Pierre Hermé, but the macarons at a Japanese pâtissier, Sadaharu Aoki were just what she needed. Parfait. She could live there forever. Victor did everything to make her trip memorable. He showed her everything that the city had to offer, the cobbled streets, the shopfronts, the patisseries, the quirky shops, and the cinema.

They were walking under the trees in the Jardin du Tuileries when Victor whispered something in her ear, “Je t’aime”. She felt something that drew her to him. She looked at him, the bold gaze he held inside his eyes, her ruin was writ large. She could feel the heat warming her cheeks and neck. Weak in the knees she attempted to smile. He held her hand. She drew close in his space. He made her body arched and leaned into the crescent of her shape. Her eyes meeting and stealing small glances. With his fingers on her neck, he bent down. She felt a wildfire through her spine. It was the feeling of euphoria dancing under their skin. The warmth on her face, the feeling of her breath on his nose, the tilt of heads, and the sweat of palms. They were the Romeo and Juliet in modern times.

The red fiery thoughts of love on her face, the embarrassing pink on her cheeks, the crimson on her lips, the light brown of her hair, and the neon pink and green in her feelings. His hands were engraved fully inked with passion on her canvas.

A week just passed by with them staying up all night swapping stories and making promises to keep in touch via skype and email. They will write letters to each other and meet again in 172 days. They were young and in love. Paris gifted them its joie de vivre. So, the love they had for each other was greater than the fear of working their long-distance relationship.

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At first, it was easy. They believed that their long-distance relationship won’t pull them apart rather it would bound them together even stronger. They wrote letters and skyped every night. Grace marked the calendar every day, keeping a count on how many days it had been since they last saw each other. First two months went swimmingly. But love is not always patient. The limited exposure to each other bred insecurities and the growing distance made the uncertainties grow into legitimate existential crises. The passion and intense feelings were fading away. It was becoming hard to sync up to have that coveted time together on skype. Victor got stuck in a dead-end job, so the skype sessions lessened and texts became sparse. Insecurity gnawed at Grace all the time and it was hard to let go. It felt like her heart was slowly being carved out of her chest by a butter knife. The more they tried to make it work, the more things kept falling apart spectacularly. The distance took its toll.

Grace was sitting in her apartment when a box came for her. Her face lit up. It was her birthday tomorrow. She opened the box; it was from Victor. So, she had been wrong all along. He didn’t give up on them. There was still hope in their relationship. The box had her favorite macarons from Sadaharu Aoki. He remembered. It put a smile on her pale face. She eagerly opened the card, it said:

Dear Grace,

You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I love you a lot but I don’t think our relationship is working. We should end things here. I hope you find a man who is worthy of you. I wish you nothing but happiness. Take care mon amour.

                                                                                -Victor.

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The raging ocean of emotions had been running wild for long now. Waves were crashing against the rocky shoreline of her mind and soulless cliffs of desolation. Whilst the emotions were flooding away from her heart into the night, her mind and soul were in a raging outburst of agony, anguish, and despair. She looked at the man sleeping by her side, rolled him on the other side, and slipped out of bed. She lit a cigarette and opened a box. It had hundreds of loosely scrawled letters, some of them were half typed. Dipped in the scent of her love and sealed with the taste of salty tears, she had been storing them for over a year now. Although she had been on multiple dates, nothing worked out. She was still mourning over the loss of lost love. 

The breathless moon, clouds of tormenting destruction, expressionless curtains, pale skin, and her rainless cheeks. Disentangled sentences, jumbled metaphors, scrambled alliteration, and a cacophony of chaos within her. She was bursting at the seams with wanting to see that face again. Her whole body still ached at the memory of that last goodbye. The joie de vivre that Paris gifted her was lost.

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