Lost in Paris

Paris was nothing like I could have ever imagined it. I was and still am deeply inspired by its beauty. I learned not only about the artist but I learned about the artist in me. I learned about what it takes for me to become a writer.

On the first day as I walked from the airport the city entered the my view for the first time. It was more beautiful than I ever imagined it could be. It was also more strange than I ever though that it could be. This first day was simply a sight seeing day for me. familiarize myself with the city, check into my hotel room, and find a nice little cafe to spend the majority of my time while in Paris.

The next day I starting the experiment a little more. I arrived that morning in the little cafe I found for some breakfast as well as to get some writing done. I brought along my notebook as well as a pencil. I'm not really a huge pan guy but I well admit there became much less erasing, pages got messier, and I will admit that there were a couple of pages in pen once I left Paris.

After the first day I started to develop a sort of a schedule. Every morning I would make my way down to my little cafe and get started on my writing. It got a little easier to write more and more everyday. As I got farther and farther into my trip it got easier and easier to fill the pages of my notebook, and not only that but I began to enjoy it more and more as the days went by.

As I wandered the streets of Paris I was nearly overwhelmed I tasted what true artists taste. I heard what true artists hear. I saw what they saw and went to the places that they have been. As I walked towards the Eiffel tower the man walking next to me was holding a book. His old wrinkled hands curled around the scuffed up spine holding it was his most important possession. I began to slow my pace as we neared the tower until I came to a stop. The man continued slowly past me but then he stopped. He turned around and looked at me for just a moment. he slowly walked up to me and placed the book in my hands. he turned and walked away without a word. I watched him as he left confused and filled wit excitement. I opened the book and slowly began to flip through its pages. I was surprised as this book was in English with multiple notes written on each page.

I found a bench and began to read. After a while an older woman came and sat down on the bench next to me. I must have seemed very intent on my new book as I noticed her leaning over o see what I was reading. I learned not only a lot about being an artist but I learned so much about life. I will keep this book with me forever and happily share it with all those who are interested in it.

I was sad as I left Paris but I am thankful for all the lessons I have learned. One day I hope to become at least somewhat like that man who handed me that book on that special day in Paris.

#realtalk

A wise man once told me never to tell you this but I wrote this poem... tomorrow... I wrote it with a pen out of ink but that's okay... I can just get a new one... tomorrow. My notebook might be out of the paper but I can fix that... tomorrow. I may not be inspired right now.. but maybe that will be better... tomorrow. Tomorrow is my favorite day of the week because there is nothing we can't do tomorrow... We can create, we can write, we can make, we can impress, we can change, we can play, and dance, and grow, bake, run, excite, add, subtract, multiply, divide, eat, destroy, break, fake, disappoint, deceive, kill, die, WAKE UP!!!! Sounds pretty darn good doesn't it? But here is the smack in the face, the stab in the gut, the bullet through the head, life's great lie.. Tomorrow is never going to come... Tomorrow is the love of your life who can't stay off the road the love who can't help but break your heart every time you reach out and no matter how much you want to be together you just can't!... Sorry I got so off topic today but it's okay. Because I went to Paris and wrote this poem... Tomorrow