Falling in Love in Paris

Well, I didn’t fall anywhere near love, but I was able to fulfill my fantasy of meeting a young and handsome man in Paris. His name was Karim and he was Moroccan: lovely dark skin, jet black features, a soft melodious voice and kind eyes. I was sitting at a park writing when he shyly approached me. By this time I was used to getting approached every few minutes, it seemed, by some man trying to pick up a young foreign woman. Somehow he was different and very charming. We spoke in both French and English, laughing when we couldn’t understand each other and smiling when we could. We ended up walking through the tiny cobbled streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, visited galleries, watched street performers, and held hands the whole way. We kissed on the Seine and walked like lovers under the Pont Neuf Bridge. And then I got bored, writing later, “I wish I could have enjoyed him for longer.” Off I went with the faint hope that I’d want to see him again, as he would wait for me at the same spot the next day at 4:00pm, but Paris swooped me up again and I didn’t want to share my time, even with a handsome young man.