The Heart of France

Cities at night, I feel, contain men who cry in their sleep and then say Nothing.
It’s nothing. Just sad dreams. Or something like that…Swing low in your weep ship,
with your tear scans and sob probes, and you would mark them.
Women—and they can be wives, lovers, gaunt muses, fat nurses, obsessions,
devourers, exes, nemeses—will wake and turn to these men and ask, “What is it?”
And the men will say, “Nothing. No it isn’t anything really. Just sad dreams.”

The Information by Martin Amis

***

I went for the family event thing this afternoon like I was told to.
I was right,most of my relatives were there. Some I knew,some I didn't
and most I'd forgotten their names.
But this time,it was quite different. While I was there,
I spotted a little statue of the Eiffel Tower and a very pretty and big picture of Paris city
hanging on the wall with only the the Eiffel Tower in colour,
as though it was lit with bright yellow lights,while the rest of the city was in black and white.
It turns out that my Aunt had gone to Paris for work matters. I didn't know that.
So instead of watching the adults talking amongst themselves,
I admired the picture while remembering the times
I'd been there and thought Paris city had never been so beautiful,
and was as though the picture was smiling the brightest of smiles which made it
much more beautiful then it already was.

But there was this feeling of sadness inside my heart that was very much hard to explain.
It was a little sad for me. Paris had to be so beautiful but so faraway at the same time.