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  • Oliwia Koczorowska

Diaries From Pigalle


I feel strange, coming back to Paris, the same place where just two years ago I went all by myself to get over you. But now?





I am making my way back to the city of lights with you by my side, almost as if nothing has ever happened. Almost as if nothing was ruined. It feels almost as if the Eurostar is our personal time machine, teleporting us back to the same place where we were two years ago. It’s exciting, yet somehow I can’t help but wonder: if we are indeed going back in time, does that mean that the worst is yet to come?

 

Please be gentle with me this time.


I am fragile.

 


Photo By Oliwia Koczorowska
Photo By Oliwia Koczorowska


Day 1, Paris: IN A ROOM FULL OF ART, I WOULD STILL STARE AT YOU

 

As a little girl, I would look at art books, wishing that one day I could be as beautiful as the work displayed within their glossy pages, even if it was just for one day. To be fair, not once, in my twenty-six years of existence I have ever come close to feeling half as cute as my favourite paintings or photographs… that was until I met you.

 

I don’t know what is it. Perhaps I should blame it on Paris, but today, as I walked through the endless corridors and passages of the Paris Photo Fair, I felt all levels of excitement rushing through my body as I felt your eyes on me. I mean, come on… we are in a room full of beyond-amazing art, and you still choose to look at me? God, I must be the most beautiful thing in your eyes. Or maybe you just love me. I wish that you did, but I could never tell you that. It would be the happiest day of my life. I would wake up every day excited for the day ahead, but until that day comes I am going to pity myself instead. 

 

Maybe I shouldn’t get my hopes up anyway.


Oh look, it’s Helmut Newton’s photographs over there. Let’s look at artwork instead.

 


Day 2, Paris: WE ARE NOT IN LOVE, ARE WE?

 

Look at you and I, back at it again. Carelessly cycling around the city of love - Paris. It feels almost as if we are in love, but we aren’t in love, are we?


So badly I wish we could be though… just so I could feel something new within me, something other than this constant despair. But this that I am feeling - this is not love, am I right? Yet, at the same time, who am I to judge? How would I know, if I have never experienced love before in my entire life?

 

The sun is shining down on the classic architecture of the city, sugarcoating the entire city in its golden sparkles and I feel just like in a movie. After all, I am in the city of love, but I am not in love. Are you my love? Tell me the truth, I need to know.


My head is working hard to process all of this, but your hands around my waist make it difficult for me to think.

 

We are not in love, are we? Yet somehow my gut is telling me otherwise. I often think that this is my version of love. Some sort of delusion is thrown at me, or maybe my mind is playing another one of its psychological games on me.

 

We are not in love, are we? Well, let’s at least pretend. As long as we have Paris, we can be whatever we want to be. We don’t have to be strangers anymore, we don’t have to be friends.


Let’s be lovers instead, well… at least until you make my heart ache again.




 

Day 3, Paris: IT’S NOT THAT DEEP

 


Walking through the hot, pink neon signs of Pigalle I see everything so clearly now.

I can’t continue obsessing over the way I feel about you, when in fact, there is an entire world out there for me to see and explore.

 

Yes, you are here for this moment, holding my hand and grinding me peacefully through the city of light and love, but tell me the truth my love, are you still going to hold my hand as tightly tomorrow?

 

You say “It’s not that deep” and make me feel stupid for all these emotions toward you, piling up in my heart and reaching the height of the Eiffel Tower. It got to the point, where I almost regretted loving you and cried over dedicating all of my purest emotions toward you.

 

It should not be this hard, so how come that it is?

Oh well, never mind… I guess I will forgive you tomorrow. Again.

 




BABYGIRL ON THE EUROSTAR ON THE WAY BACK FROM PARIS

 

It was pitch black outside the window of the train.

I’ve looked at you falling asleep on my laps

Like a child after a long, hard day

I held you close and played with your hair

And as I have looked down on you

I’ve felt the purest form of love taking over my little body which had no idea that I am capable of such feeling.

I’ve bowed my head down,

Leaning against the hood of your jumper and closed my eyes

And that’s how I knew that I loved you

 

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