Written 9:31 pm, March 2, 2003, Paris Time
There's a poem in my book that I'm particularly fond of as of the moment. It really doesn't apply to me at all…what applies only is that I AM in Paris with…nobody that counts….but anyway…

In Paris With You

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've drowned a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess that I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go the Louvre,
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysees
And remain here in this sleazy
Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and who
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Lets talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
Theres that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel wall are peeling
And I'm in paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Lets talk of Paris.
Im in Paris the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with…all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.


Written by James Fenton

Written 12:47 am, March 2, 2003, Paris time

This afternoon I wandered around the small garden/walkway behind Citadines, the hotel where I'm staying. I noticed the trees were starting to actually have green leaves and buds that I suppose would eventually bloom into flowers. And then I realized, the rains in the past few days are supposed to usher in spring…..and I don't have enough winter pictures!!!!

Written 1:24 am, March 1, 2003, Paris time

I was trying to find the right poem that would aptly describe what I'm feeling and what I'm thinking. In the end I decided to close my poetry book.
There just wasn't anything there.

I realized all of a sudden that the longer I become immersed in reading poetry, the harder it is to find that one poem that I can read over and over again
and say, yes, this is where I am and what I'm feeling right now.

Maybe I'm becoming more and more picky and hard to please? Or maybe I'm beginning to realize that, as with other things in life,
I look for the answers elsewhere. That what I really need are not the words of other people, not the emotions of beings.
I cannot turn to them and ask them to say what I want to say, and feel what I am feeling. I have to find my words and give voice to them.

Maybe I'm done escaping, and its time to face reality? I have to go back to who and what I was before. I have to find the courage I had and
re-learn how to say what I want to say and feel what I want to feel without shame nor guilt.