Americans have always had a romantic conception of Paris. It's the city of light, the epitome of culture. Those of us who are lucky enough to have spent any time there remember only the tremendous spirit and breathtaking beauty--even in its faults. In Paris we have been happy. In Paris we have been spirited and beautiful.
That the people of Paris need someone's love and prayers is upsetting. This happens in the Middle East, not in Paris. This attack is personal. It hurts in the way that penetrates and lingers.
I remember Valentine asking about the méchants. I gave her a hug and false promises of safety.
Victor Hugo wrote in L'homme qui rit, "La vie n'est qu'une longue perte de tout ce qu'on aime." Life is nothing but a long loss of everything we love. Paris will rally and the pain will become motivation, but this weekend we have lost a bit of something we loved and the only thing to do is to hug each other and to lie to each other that things will be ok.
