Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Milieu

milieu \meel-YUH; meel-YOO\ , noun:
1. Environment; setting.

Milieu. Million. A million places to be. A million people to be. Milieu.
Will you walk with me? Will you go with me to these places? A hand to hold. A body to walk with. Footfalls. I see us walking along a river. Cobblestones under our feet. The ground is uneven. I cling to your fingers and palm. You clutch mine. Reassure me with a squeeze that you are not letting go. My shoes are slippery. I do not trust them. You can see this in my face. The way I look to you, expectant, but smiling. Worried, but not worried. It has just finished raining. Or it is still raining. There is a faint mist, a drizzle. For some reason in my vision I am imagining Paris. The Eiffel Tower in the distance. Crowds at our left side. A ferris wheel? A river to our right. My hair is brown - or should I say "brunette"? That is much prettier. I do not look like me. My skin is olive and very smooth. I look good in winter colors. My hair is not curly, just wavy, and only half pulled back. That is not me. And the man. The man I was only just recently imagining was holding my hand - I cannot make out his face. Just that he is handsome. And he is smiling. He is French. He can only barely speak American. Ah so that is why the two characters smile at each other so much. They cannot speak. Neither can ruin the moment. Perhaps they are laughing at that too. It is funny in a way to think that speaking could ruin a moment. Well actually that is not so funny. It is true. Oh to not be able to speak - no - to not have to speak in order to communicate. How lovely that must be. I still see their faces close up in my vision. Their eyes sparkle, reflect the rippling water. A silvery glow. The air is crisp but gentle. No rough wind. The sky is gray but it is not gloomy. It simply offers a quiet backdrop. It is full. Full of something. Rain clouds share. It is not raining. It is sprinkling. The sound all around is splashing and gently falling droplets. And laughter. Yes, these two continue to laugh. Oh vacation. Where do these women meet these men? Does it matter that this probably will not last? Will she compare all American men she meets from now on to this French man that only needed to smile at her and squeeze her hand to make her feel secure and right? It is strange but in her dreams of love there was always sunshine and rays of heat. But even on this cloudy day in Paris she feels that. Or no she feels that this is almost better. Better than she could have imagined it before.

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