“I used to be in love with the concept of being in love,” I said as I looked upon the view of the Eiffel Tower from a distance. “I used to be in love with the fact that someone can love me with all he is, that someone will care for me when no one did, that someone is going to hug me when nothing is fine. I was too in love with the fact that maybe, it wasn't bad to be in love, that maybe it wasn't as heartbreaking as I thought it was, that maybe if I started to fall in love, I don't have to be alone anymore because surely someone will be there for me no matter what. I was too in love of the fact that someone's going to kiss me whenever I'm feeling useless, that someone will hug me whenever I cry at 3AM, and that there would be someone to tell me how much he loves me. And how much he wanted to be with me, to be the prince in my own fairytale, of how he wanted to marry me and plan his future with me, because I thought that's how love works. But I was just in love with the concept, not him.”
It was a snowy Wednesday morning, and we were in a local coffee shop in Champs-Élysées to have a cup of hot cappuccino. It's almost a week before Christmas, and like the usual set up in Paris, everyone seems to be busy about the upcoming holiday. Christmas trees can be seen everywhere, the dim yellow Christmas lights glowing brightly amidst the dawn. There were decorations on the streets, Christmas balls hanging on the old trees, the lanterns that lit up the city, giving it a brand new glow. Cold white snow covered every street, and there were numerous of snowflakes falling continuously from the dark morning sky. There were only a few people in this coffee shop, maybe because it was just four in the morning. Most of them were already wearing their warm fur coats, and other clothes that doesn't seem to go out of trend. We were in Paris after all, a city that is dedicated to fashion. Some people were already heading to the shopping malls, carrying their luxurious-looking bags in their hands. Children were already out on the streets, enjoying the snow as they hopped on it as if it was their first time to experience snow in their lives. Their parents followed them with annoyance visible on their faces, running after their children who were already heading to the nearest closed toy store. The sky was starting to have life, the millions of stars, despite the thick fog shone brightly, the fading silvery moonlight glowed upon the whole city. The view was wonderful, the moment looked so perfect. It just made me love Paris even more.
“Parfois amour est pas ce que nous pensons il est,” he whispered before he sipped some of his cappuccino. “We all have our own definition of love, and I can't blame you if you see it that way. For most people, they see it as the highest basis of happiness, that if you are one person who can love someone and is loved by someone, you can achieve the never ending happiness everyone dreams of. For some, it's the best thing that could ever happen to one person. That once you knew the real definition of love, you'll never feel unloved again and you'll be able to see the world in a different perspective. But there are people who believe that love is just an illusion, a trap. They fall in love with the concept that love is just a trap for fools, that only the gullible ones get hooked up with it. It's actually a little ironic, how they hate love but fell in love with the concept of love being a stupid thing that people do to be happy. How they judge love itself for being irrational, because they don't understand it. And you know some people, they hate what they don't understand for it scares them...”
“Parce que parfois, ce que vous ne comprenez pas est cequi vous effraye beaucoup.“
I looked outside the glass window, and the bright sun was already starting to rise from the horizon, its warm sunlight beaming all over the city. The morning sky was no longer dark, its sky blue hue radiated above, and the moon was already starting to fade from a distance as the bright stars earlier suddenly disappear. It was already morning, and we've been here for probably an hour now. I sipped my cup of hot cappuccino, anticipating its warmth and the sweet aroma that filled my satisfaction. The classic French Christmas song Petite Papa Noël played in the background, and the coffee shop was suddenly filled with the aroma of coffee. They turned off the Christmas lights hanging on the walls of the coffee shop, and a few minutes later the place was more quiet than ever. No one was talking, no one dared to mutter a word. The moment was serene, and the view of Paris just made everything better.
