Sunday lunch, my first day in Paris in the new year. I sit at the Brasserie in the last year I have eaten a delicious piece of beef and I wait with anticipation back on such a term. In my mind I'm somewhere else, lost in my reading. Already at least two thousand pages long, I now follow the events to be reached this point by the albums Mark and Fiordland.
The Queen of Firnstayn has fallen into the trap that their former captors and apparent friends have made it. Only a small battle in the meantime already spans centuries and epic, but a defeat would mean the final destruction of the albums market. If the queen dies, the magic is filled realm of albums dedicated to the final demise.
Only a thin wall separates the Queen of your life. But it is an impenetrable wall of steel lined, ruthless jihadists ...
briefly as I look towards me, half hidden by the pillar of the restaurant entrance is someone. For a split second to cross our eyes and remain short hang together. The short eyes flash grounded deep into my lonely soul ...
course I do not think the gaze, but send my eyes - the same as well - once again on the trip, a slow Sunday afternoon pretending trivial at one level nothing at all interested.
But those eyes ...
The plight of the queen is larger and larger, their situation hopeless. Betrayed by their own arrogance and by their elven brothers in arms abandoned it prepares for its destruction before ....
save the appearance of my Pavé's and the delicate aroma of Roquefort sauce to me from being forced to watch the agony of the young Queen longer. I put my book aside and buttons in front of my 300g beef that are before me on the plate.
A moment shows me that they, too deeply engrossed in a book and thus in a very different world, disconnected from the here and now. But now again, her eyes flashed over to me as they are ordered to eat something.
I break away again and my eyes wander about Paris, across something interesting to discover translucent. But in reality I do not see anything because my thoughts still cling to the just as quickly snatched the beauty hiding from me behind the pillar.
These dark, the world-drinking eyes ...
I turn back to my steak. Delicious, no doubt, but I do not enjoy it at the moment so well. I feel drawn, as I fear that my short attention could have disturbed her and am now watching to see if I can watch for.
course, I am not, but I can see whenever I look past her or very briefly in her face that she considered me now and again.
One thing I'd like to know, dear readers: watch your back even if the look of a gentleman you annoying and uncomfortable, or just if you're curious about yourself??
This nagging question - probably taken with some fine beef and diluted with a spicy, Belgian abbey beer - bitter, I planned my feel-good lunch here in the city of love. I continued to eat while reading in her book and her thoughts on passages from or writes down in a small notebook. Whether she also writes other thoughts on this?
"Paris, Brasserie" Au Rendez-Vous des Artistes ", Sunday, 01/04/2009: I'm sitting here waiting for my pancakes, and to me, half hidden by a pillar fitting a Lord ..."
Their flight into a dream world is stopped abruptly by the appearance of their meal, and then we eat. Together and yet somehow infinitely separated, almost like an old couple who has everything and talked to say nothing greater. Merely that it would be just the opposite and it would be so much what I ask you and would tell. What she writes
? What motivates them? Why she's here and why not elsewhere? Who is she and who ever I am!?
Still, we eat our empty plates, then hide between the lines of our books and found only now and then to each other in our eyes. Thin, fragile, and only fractions of a second existing bridges the two people could connect with each other if they would allow for only these bridges to build solid and lasting.
I read during the coffee a few lines in my book. The Queen has done it again: her renegade elves could gather up to but not into the fate of the people mocked intervene and turn the tide. I should have been euphoric that the disaster was averted once again, but my own impending I can defeat this triumph not take pleasure happy.
We now both have to eat and drink, read and pondered. Now would be a perfect time for another step in a new, big world. A look, only been a few seconds are required, would. A smile, perhaps that could be reciprocated or not, and say so literally would more than the 828 here yet written words. From then on it would be easy. The Avalanche erupted once can stop you, even if you can not really lead to it wherever you'd like, but that's another story.
I empty my house, pay, stow my book, put me my scarf and my coat on and stand up. I'm actually in their direction, but at the door put on my gloves and step into the icy evening out without looking deeper into it to have ventured.
Only a thin wall separates me from my life. But there is a wall of steel-hard, impenetrable fears and doubts ...
closes the door behind me in a warm, bright future, and I walk alone through the cold January home.
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