Or in French, Deux mois plus tard, je reviens.
Last night, I was re-reading a story I wrote back in October/November 2009 soon after seeing the movie, Les Chansons d'amour. And I came across this particular part that spoke volumes:
Matt sighed contentedly, and rubbed my arm. I lifted my head, and looked at him. He looked down at me, his eyes having grown black in the waning light, and he smiled. I sat up straight, and smoothed my coat. Matt turned his head toward the Fontaine de Léda, and he smiled. He turned back to me, and took my face into his hands. I didn’t actually think he’d kiss me. I just thought he was remembering my face. It wasn’t until I saw his eyes close, that I closed my own quickly in response, and felt his warm breath on my face. My mind was focused on so many things at that moment. He smelled of cigarettes and coffee, and his lips tasted like the tomato juice he had drank in his apartment. He was so gentle, yet deeply passionate in his kiss. I placed my hand on the back of his head, and ran my fingers through his brown hair. I was at ease kissing him, which was a stark contrast with the other men I had dated.
What is particularly interesting to me, is that I've tried being descriptive about kisses. I've worked very hard, and sweated to make them as realistic as possible. But, I have always come spectacularly short of just doing it. And in writing a story about a woman going to Paris alone and falling in love with a French male, I find the "muse" for writing a truly authentic kiss. I have never been to Paris (though I dream about it), and I have never met a true blue Frenchman, but I was able to get myself in that mindset. Even when I was still actively thinking of the guy that broke my heart whilst writing other stories, I couldn't make it real.
So, I thank you, Louis Garrel for getting me into that mindset with an enthralling performance as Ismaël Bénoliel. And I also thank the city of Paris, whose lights I have yet to see in person, for inspiring me to finally get out a real feeling.
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