Lost Stars

xxv. yellow star

She anxiously tilted her head out the window as she looked down from thirty five thousand feet in the air as the plane glided through the fluffy clouds. The accommodation was really good, but that is what's to be expected when in first class. It actually gave her room to wiggle around in whenever she squirmed from second thoughts.

She remembered how skeptical her mother was, when she told her about everything Jack's been leaving her. Her mother was both taken back and awestruck at the fondness that he must have held for Elle, and something inside her whispered in her ear before she finally gave her approval.

"We are now in our final descent. Please fasten your seat belts as we start landing." The speaker above blared out, and Elle grabbed the buckles and secured them over herself before her hands reached up around her neck and felt the beautiful necklace between her fingers as they grazed the precious jewel.

She soon made it into the airport with all her luggage at hand before she saw a formally dressed lady hold up a piece of paper with her name written on it. She watched as the lady lead the bunch of tourists as she made her way to Elle with her own little French flag at hand.

"Are you Elle Martin?" True enough, the lady had a very distinguishable French accent hidden in her words, as well as a very welcoming smile, before Elle nodded. "And where is Mr. Kingston? I understand that both of you were traveling together." She looked down on her clipboard multiple times to double check.

Elle's facade of a cheerful and excited demeanor dropped and her entire body froze at the mention of his name. These were one of the painful accidents that people unconsciously slipped that really upset Elle, since it was a murderous reminder of what had happened. "He couldn't make it. Something came up." Elle dead panned with a straight face.

They soon climbed up the bus and drove off. Edna, the tour guide, had a lot of things to say about everything that no second was left in silence. And Elle would have been able to enjoy her enthusiasm just like everyone else did, but it was too difficult, so she just let her eyes wander outside the Windows.

She saw how Paris had its name as the City of Love cut out for it. It seemed like this was the time of year where all tourists chose to bring their loved ones to the center of romance, and only now did she realize how bitter she has become. She ultimately resented the mere thought of affection now that she has been denied of it and all together understood how bleak life was without it.

They stopped by the famous structures that made Paris known for what it is, and everyone was taking pictures, whereas Elle just looked at it and observed from the distance as her face was overcome by this  blurred fascination that may have been synonymous to cynicism.

There was no point in taking pictures except for the few that she did take, since the only person that she ever wanted to tell was gone. The few pictures of her with half a smile was only for her photo album, which seemed like the only way of telling him anything in the form of pictures in the place that seemed to have held his wonder, in her photo album.

The last stop of the day was in the famous  Louvre, and the old Elle would have been jumping from excitement, but she just looked at it with a mature interest as her eyes lingered over each painting with only one uniformed thought for each one: How lovelier each painting would have been if he was here with her. 

She watched every painting and how each one was like a window into an artist's mind channeled into a visual image. How each stroke may have been a battle scar from an internal war with one's self.