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PRE-POST-SCRIPT // THIS WAS WRITTEN DURING OUR 2013 TRIP TO ROMANIA. WE SPENT A WEEKEND AT A RECOVERY HOME FOR TRAFFICKING VICTIMS. THIS WAS MY FAVORITE PART OF THE WEEKEND.
We revisit Rue Mouffetard, whose bricks and doors will always be the darlings of my heart. For dinner, I shop the street vendors. This time I am the one walking down the street with a baguette, it's aroma trailing me like perfume. I walk and snap photos, often of details I want so desperately to remember; the undersides of door-frames, the mouldings around windows. My shots are all crooked and un-composed, but I don't dare assume the pretension of trying to make artistic what is already art. I notice a slight twinge in my neck as I realize I've been staring up for hours.
The Story Inn. It could not be better named. This last weekend I had the chance to bear witness to Heather and Joel's wedding, in this idyllic space, and although it was their day, it reminded me of the many hours and chapters in our own story that Aaron and I have written there.
Not that there wasn't ample opportunity for nerding over the weekend, via seminars at the convention. But it seems like it's been unbearably long since I've gotten to go somewhere. See new things. So one of the days, I shamelessly played hookie and wandered around downtown Cincinnati. I do not regret it at all.