below iron balconies

I’m so exhausted to write tonight, but alas I will try.

I can’t think of anything incredibly high concept today but perhaps I will write on the smallest enclave which is my tiny apartment in a large blue building in a larger city of larger egos. Where the word designer is not a way to describe a food menu but a ‘real’ currency. Where one does not simply ‘go to a bar’ but curates their evening based on ‘vibes’ and club entry’s that don’t depend on monetary transaction but on a dress code policy.

Amidst these bizarre and Paris-specific social rules that are determined by an invisible force, exists a group of young ambitious individuals. Who lead by heart and friendship. Who lead by social care and loyalty. Where the currency lies not in labels but in empathy. Who lead by passion for art, poetry and the determination. In living and loving as interchangeable and undefined as our building codes.

It is in this small enclave that I cannot take credit for, that I’ve somehow had the luck to embed myself in. Again, the reason I can’t take credit for this is because this city is not only defined by its inhabitants, but as such the city, when you are lucky enough to find it - a home for community.

What I have found in my tiny 10m2 flat, unexpectedly has been a community of the most wonderful, caring, kind and intelligent women (mostly women but sometimes men) who I am eternally grateful to be lucky enough to have as friends. Even those who come to this city ‘without friends’. Believe me, you will find them and to change the words of Hemingway ‘all you have to find is one true friend. And in that sentence/friendship - create the truest connection that you know’.

And perhaps as time persists we could say these are the ‘days of our lives’ but thanks to these girls (and gays!) let those times roll on…