Prologue
The sun was a welcome feeling, as it left a warm tingle on my right cheek. This was with the -5°C temperatures lurking outside the glass, separating me from the outside.
Days like these are my favourite, better than the summer sun and definitely better than any snow storm. Right here, there is just me and the sky, not a cloud in the atmosphere. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why it’s -5.
The sun has more reach this way, it can shine through the skeletons of the trees while they wait patiently for spring to come around again.
The air is crisper on my lungs, and yet the world seems lighter and brighter than usual. I can sit and enjoy a perfect day without melting, which is always a bonus. I guess I prefer the cold to the warm, I’d always choose places like Iceland for holidays over the typical sunshine excursions.
I find I can enjoy my days more when I am comfortable. When you are cold you can always just layer up but when you’re overheating, somehow being stripped of everything isn’t enough.
Right now, I’m sitting in a small café in Paris, I have always wanted to go and the flights tend to be cheaper in the winter, so here I am.
The café has a large window on the shop of the front, and I am early enough to get the first choice of seating. I have a tendency to sit next to windows, mostly for the crowds outside. There’s something about knowing that their faces may one day haunt my dreams that attracts me to it. Someone told me that the brain can never create a face of its own, so every person you’ve ever dreamed of, you’ve seen them before. It blew my mind.
There is a delicate-looking cobble street ahead of me and it is already picking up the hustle and bustle of a brave new day despite still being early in the morning. The sun is coming through a tree that is situated in front of the shop and I find this to be quite a nice touch, it being in a city and all. It creates a lovely balance between all the buildings and a bit of nature.
My flight got in at 6am, because setting off from Manchester in the early hours complimented my budget a lot more than if I were to wait to leave during the day. I have been walking around for a little bit, not really worried about keeping warm, more concerned about getting my first kick from a fresh cup of Parisian coffee.
There were so many streets to wind my way through and cute little shops to discover whether open or not. I found myself in front of this lovely cafe, only just opening for the day. The waitress let me come inside early if I helped her wipe up the tables quickly.
She gave me a free drink which she didn’t have to do but I thanked her anyway with my terrible accent and sat in front of the window. I always struggle with accents, especially when I was the one who taught myself the special phrases. I recall my French teacher once saying that I sounded Chinese when I took my first speaking exam. How is that even possible? I couldn’t tell you.
The first sip of the coffee warms my tongue and the mug thaws my fingers as I sit back into the comfy armchair. The coffee here makes the airport stuff seem like tar and I feel the urge to order another gallon to be able to appreciate it as much as it deserves. The chill I was starting to feel along my bones is melting away swiftly and I almost feel comfortable enough to rest my head and doze a bit.
The pace outside is picking up and I am listening to the small radio that is resting on the till. The waitress is singing softly to whatever is playing, and I can’t help but smile.
I am finally here, I am doing everything I wanted.
I guess it only took dying to make me live.
