I fall in love with everything and everyone that was. I fall in love with everyone and everything ephemeral, namely. I fall in love with the 60 year old white-haired man who’s making crêpes in a crummy pâtisserie in Montmartre; I fall in love with the woman I cross on the sidewalk, who smiles back at me; I fall in love with the kind drug dealer who gives us directions on the metro, on how to get to Châtelet. I forget his name, but remember his face. I fall in love with the pretty 20-something tour guide girl who’s guiding us through little streets that I’ve never walked before, and that I will never walk again. I fall in love with the Australian traveler with a SLR camera taking photos of the mountain and of the city, and even with the Québecoise girl who didn’t understand English and who strayed away from everyone. I fall in love with the Cemetery at night, with David Hume’s grave and with everyone who lives, or who’s ever lived. I fall in love with Bobby the dog, and wish I had a dog named Bobby. I fall in love with the French Piano player and the way he strolls his hands on the black and white keys; I fall in love with his voice, his blue eyes, his smile, and then I turn into a school girl. I fall in love with the scribblings on the red wall and with the three strangers at the table next to ours who are humming the melody in a shy and composed manner.
I fall in love with the bartender in the plaid shirt and the pleasant look on his face; I fall in love with the man who looks like the Doctor from Doctor Who, simply because seeing him made my friend smile. I fall in love with an old Greek man who drinks Guinness and whom I saw every evening in the bar where I worked, he was witty, kind and clever. Now I don’t know him anymore. I fall in love with Guinness.
I fall in love with a country I’ve never been to, simply because I had a good time with people I met who come from there. I fall in love with a new coworker, just because his mouth and demeanour reminds me of his. I fall in love with a song, I fall in love with every song that played while we were having fun. I fall in love with Thames, because we crossed it; I fall in love with space, because we watched it in the Planetarium. I fall in love with a fictional character, because we invented it.
I fall in love with the hostel owner in Algarve, who invites me to work there during the next summer. I never did. I fall in love with an Italian girl and a Mexican boy because we share a 50′ of cheap beer together on the streets of Lisboa. I fall in love with Lisboa because that’s where we met and spent an all-nighter together before my flight to other places. We sat, just the two of us, until the dawn. You told me something I wanted to hear, and everything feels right in that single moment. I fall in love with the darkness, because I wish it could last a little longer. I fall in love with dawn, because that’s when you decide to walk me to a taxi and hold me tightly as if we’ve known each other our entire lives. And then we part, and I fall in love with departure, because I would have never fallen in love with anyone or anything without it becoming but a memory of a moment that has passed.