Minuit (Et Je T'aime)
A writer of stories, an artist of words.
They bask in the beauty of a Parisian evening as the cold morning draws near, an intimate pair tracing their steps through the empty boulevards and hollow streets illuminated by the flickering streetlights.
They pass a man sitting by his lonesome self, a young couple sharing glances of love over a candle-lit dinner, and a cigar lit up within the trembling hands of a wandering youth.
This is the city of dreams, a landscape of nostalgia, an escape from the present age.
The language spoken is a tender kiss, words that transform into poetry; caressing the soul, tucking it into the soft covers that ends in a good night's rest, a soul fast asleep.
He searches for answers that have already escaped him, words that wait to be remembered.
He's a simple man who lives in his stories, a man outside of his own time, torn between the worlds on the opposite sides of the midnight hour.
To leave one for another, he wonders.
The ringing of the old bell signals the conclusion of the day, and introduces the coming night.
People are fast asleep yet the artists have just woken up, passionate hearts yearning for a taste of life, fervently moving about to see what the late evening holds.
The rugged pages of a novel,
the lively scenes of a film,
the delicate strokes within a painting,
the impassioned melodies sung in a tune.
A world of art, a galaxy of life.
This is where he finds himself.
Joining in their celebration, his hands grasp the words that are right in front of him, and with grace, he puts it down on a blank page; lifting the weight off his shoulders.
He takes a seat at their table, the sweet voice of a singer from a foreign era emptying him of his despair, and filling him with hope.
He joins them in this midnight hour.
He takes part in their moveable feast.
"We all fear death and question our place in the universe. The artist's job is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njFgl_dGz54
AMDG
They bask in the beauty of a Parisian evening as the cold morning draws near, an intimate pair tracing their steps through the empty boulevards and hollow streets illuminated by the flickering streetlights.
They pass a man sitting by his lonesome self, a young couple sharing glances of love over a candle-lit dinner, and a cigar lit up within the trembling hands of a wandering youth.
This is the city of dreams, a landscape of nostalgia, an escape from the present age.
The language spoken is a tender kiss, words that transform into poetry; caressing the soul, tucking it into the soft covers that ends in a good night's rest, a soul fast asleep.
He searches for answers that have already escaped him, words that wait to be remembered.He's a simple man who lives in his stories, a man outside of his own time, torn between the worlds on the opposite sides of the midnight hour.
To leave one for another, he wonders.
The ringing of the old bell signals the conclusion of the day, and introduces the coming night.
People are fast asleep yet the artists have just woken up, passionate hearts yearning for a taste of life, fervently moving about to see what the late evening holds.
The rugged pages of a novel,
the lively scenes of a film,
the delicate strokes within a painting,
the impassioned melodies sung in a tune.
A world of art, a galaxy of life.
This is where he finds himself.
Joining in their celebration, his hands grasp the words that are right in front of him, and with grace, he puts it down on a blank page; lifting the weight off his shoulders.
He takes a seat at their table, the sweet voice of a singer from a foreign era emptying him of his despair, and filling him with hope.
He joins them in this midnight hour.
He takes part in their moveable feast.
"We all fear death and question our place in the universe. The artist's job is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njFgl_dGz54
AMDG
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