It seems like only yesterday that I was riding through the streets of Paris on my bicycle underneath the looming grey clouds. It's impossible to absorb all of the culture and architecture that this wondrous city has to offer, one can only try. If I close my eyes for just a second, I am back in Paris still sitting on the hill at the Sacre Coeur eating a croissant and sipping on my bitter creamy coffee, watching the group of friends next to me celebrate a birthday with champagne and baguettes. My navy vintage YSL blazer smells of Marlboro Lights from the French boys sitting next to me who are dressed in stripes with heavy black spectacles framing their pale chiselled cheekbones. A perfect cliché and a kind of French chic you expect to see in a Garance Dore Polaroid. Sweet Paris really is the city of love. Passing over the Pont des Arts, old and new padlocks filled with hopes of everlasting love (or at least in true French style, momentary lust) a sensation of longing for romance is inevitable, even for the most cynical. Then my eyes open. Take me back to Paris…At least for now I still have a copy of Amelie.
PennyLane.
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