I DON’T WANT TO BE // A PROLOGUE TO HISTORY

Quel est mieux? rester debout seule sur le balconnet avec les bras étendus écoutant au son de la ville ou rester debout avec les bras étendus avec les bras d’un amant enroulés autour des tiens?

La plupart du temps je ne me sens pas seule, mais parfois…

Les chansons d’amour was not what I had expected and I’m not sure whether it exceeded or failed to meet my expectations, but it was much more somber than I had surmised from the trailer. I stopped the film partway to make heat some milk because it felt appropriate at the time (not long after Les yeux aux ciel)*. I put the milk and some chocolate in a pot on the stove and went to the balcony to stand in the cold (15.3°C) with my arms outstretched to take in the sighs of the city at dusk. Maybe it was actually past dusk and the sky is only like that because of the light pollution, je sais pas. The draught does its thing and the motors and the sirens sound and you wonder things, like whether one could jump twelve stories and land on one’s feet if one willed it enough, for example. I’m not talking about jumping to one’s death (none of that from me, don’t worry) but rather being airborne just for a little bit. Maybe that’s the outstretched arms and the poorly conjugated French and noticing the very particular mix of sometimes-loneliness and contemplation of the city’s sighs at night fall that comes from watching films by Christophe Honoré.

Les yeux au ciel, les nuages blancs dans le bleu parfait, nul trace de dieu au ciel, ces nuages lents dans le bleu defait… (Alex Beaupain)

*I learned this summer from my China roomie that in French, one can both regarde and écoute à un film.. pretty cool.