finding things in the snow

it's zero degrees with light snow. once again i'm sitting on the bed. i've just eaten a croissant. i drink coffee. this all feels pleasant.

the snow fascinates me. i can't stop being in awe of the whiteness on the ground, in the sky, or the floating particles in the air. but it's also the cold that arrives with it - that which makes you lift your shoulders, put our hands into fists, and walk briskly (yet carefully, so as not to slip).

my boots are too tight, but hopefully they'll stretch to accommodate me. i like that wearing them enables me to tread in puddles and ice without concern for getting wet toes. i like the noise of the zips when i get home and shed them along with jacket, hat and scarf. it's a ritual i'm getting used to. another comfort, like the food, the snow, and the sound of my own voice reading aloud from newspapers and books (my school time). i read slowly, defying all punctuation, like i would if i was 5. and i guess i'm a child here. my gloved hands and restrictive clothing are that of a child. as is my wonder. and my wide eyed lust for knowledge.

i've been invited to a xmas/birthday party of my landlord, but i'm not sure. it made me anxious at first. i'll have to be social. i'll have to communicate. i'll feel dumb when they speak french. but i guess i should go, if only for an hour.

yesterday i shared some naan with may, an old friend from another life. it was a lovely reminder that i'm not the only one changing. sometimes i arrogantly believe that nobody but me (and close friends) are changing, complex, beings. and i guess i feel that my trajectory is special. but it's really not. because we're all spiraling, and this is good, because sometimes it means we can meet again, au hasard (randomly) and differently.

and today i have a date with a man whose name i don't even know. he's not from here either. he'll speak with a spanish accent. again, two strangers at a table. paris belongs to no-one.