Waiting

I look at my watch. Still no sign of him. I pull my knees closer to my chest and huddle against the wall looking for some protection from the cold. April in Paris can be surprisingly cold. Much colder than London. He said one forty. It’s now two.

A man in a black jacket jumps up on to the wall. Is it him? I wonder. Should I say something? He does not look at me. Perhaps this is a popular meeting spot. After all I do not know Paris. I am sure that I would recognise Pierre. How could I not? After our endless conversations, late into the night,  I feel I know him like the back of my hand.

The wait is long, my dream
of you never ends.
~ Nuala O'Faolain

As time passes I begin to wonder if Pierre is in fact the man sitting beside me but his face is turned. I whisper his name but he does not turn.  Surely he would have recognised me by now. I take out my phone and read the last email exchange between us. I can’t help but blush. Yes I see that I have the time and the place right.  But my heart starts to sink– perhaps he will not come after all.

*

I have waited so long for this moment. To finally be able to meet Sarah, the woman of my dreams. I wonder if she will look the same as in her pictures?  We agreed one forty but she is not here yet. I hope she has not gotten cold feet. Perhaps I should have eaten first, my stomach reminds me that it is past my usual lunch time. But I wanted to show her Chez Michel, quite possibly the most romantic restaurant in the ninth arrondissement.

I look at my watch again and then over at the woman sitting next to me, or should I say teenager. She looks to be at that awkward age, she has not even learned how to sit yet.

Another half hour passes and I begin to wonder who the young girl is waiting for. A horrifying thought crosses my mind but I dismiss it fast enough. Instead I take my 

                                                                                                mobile phone out of my pocket and dial her number. 

About the photo: Its been taken across the road from the Notre Dame, two strangers lost in their own world.

Love Locks

As we left the Notre Dame and headed towards the left bank a reflection caught my eye. My gaze drifted towards the Pont de l’Archeveche. I smiled. The sun had burnt through the April cloud. François gripped my hand and led me towards the bridge. In silence I kept pace with him savouring the last hour we had together.

At the bridge we stopped and looked back at the Notre Dame. François wrapped me in his arms and we kissed. I couldn’t tell you how long we stood there for. Lips glued together like the world was about to end. When I opened my eyes Francois held out an open padlock. He rubbed his thumb over our initials which he had etched into the brass.

L'eternite, c'est long...surtout vers le fin.
~ Franz Kafka

It was only then that I noticed the other locks, ribbons and ties all marked with names or initials. François clasped the lock on to the metal railing, “Our love will be locked for all eternity,” he said before he threw the key into the Seine.

Now, two years later, I stand on the Pont de l’Archeveche on a beautiful summer’s morning. Our love lock is still there amongst the others. I wonder how many of those lovers are still together. My hand reaches out to hold on to the tangible evidence of what was my first love.

I feel his arm around me. I turn around. I want to hold him but instead François drops to one knee and only then do I notice a small blue velvet box he is holding in his hand. 

About the photo: I have been to Paris before but hadn't seen this bridge then. We stumbled upon this bridge as we were making our way from Notre Dame towards the Louvre.