Mademoiselle is on Holiday. She’s gone to Paris by herself! Not one to wait forever for someone who isn’t around to take her, she’s bought an exquisite pink chiffon dress, (with luggage to match) and booked a first class trip to the city of her dreams. Ooh La La! She stepped off the plane and so excited she ran all the way to the Eiffel Tower and now has stopped to catch her breath.
It is raining. : (
For the briefest of moments, a terrible sadness roles in along with the dark grey clouds. She can barely see the Tower, there is too much fog. The bounce of curls in her hair droop onto her neck, and the chiffon sinks and bleeds pink into her skin.
“Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I am a fool in the rain. Who am I to be in the city of love, alone?”
And then, the rain pelting her skin softens, and shifts, into she is covered in million tiny Parisian kisses. Each drop caressing her, whispering, “Mon amore.” My Love.
And the flowers bloom, and Mademoiselle is filled with quiet love. And joy.
“Lovers come and go, “says the rain, “The best romance is the lifelong one you will have is with yourself.”