Albert looked at us from the kitchen and smiled. A look of joy, a look of fatigue. Earlier in the day those new wave filmmakers had been by to borrow a moped while making their heist film. Or maybe it’s a film about poetry. It’s about existence, they said, and that was all that matters. Chez Albert would make an appearance in the film and Albert was proud of his little establishment.
The smells coming from the kitchen tell me we are approaching early dinner in a few hours, and with dinner comes the city. It will stream through the doors and embrace us with its celebration of all that is beautiful.
But for now I think of you. Why? Because I know you are in your apartment upstairs toiling over your abstract geometrical paintings. You are struggling to understand what is in our hearts, to convey that essence with the seemingly endless palette of our being. It is this yearning, this ambition that made me fall in love with you. You have taken the little steps made by Mondrian and are leaping by bricks and bounds with your exploration of the human spirit.
My thoughts have been truncated by Albert’s cooking, however. He, too, is a genius, and I am impossibly lucky to be surrounded by such creativity. Chez Albert is not just 2469 pieces of Paris’ soul, it is the centre of the universe.
After dinner let’s go next door to the cinema. There’s a new Agnès Varda film we need to see. If they are done showing that slapbrick comedy that’s been playing there forever, that is. Later, after a walk through the city, we’ll come back and have a drink with Albert on the balcony out back and fill ourselves with good conversation. I think the philosophers will be there tonight and we can hear more about Bricks and Nothingness. Perhaps when Albert closes shop I can come by and you can show me what you’ve been working on these past few days. I’ve missed you. Every time I am near you my heart skips a click. This, I know, is the sound of love.
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