How do I decide whether to take a trip to Paris, or not?

Go? Stay?

Economy – or splurge and lay blissfully flat in business class?

Should I spend the money?

Does it matter an iota I barely know my three travelling companions?

Will a trip fill the void?

Would I have fun and be set free or would I reminisce on every cobbled corner and whisper with ghosts?

Why am I even asking these questions? It's Paris for heaven's sakes. When did it become this difficult for me, Miss Definite, to make a decision? 

When he left you.

Grab the chance.

But what if...

What if what!? Go. Make some new memories.

What if those memories turn out to be bad, sad, disastrous?

Circles and circles within circles of questions, doubt and that ever-present, irritating, invasive little voice jabbing at my confidence – too old, too poor, too empty, broken. Nothing to offer. Remember? He left you. On the scrapheap. Unwanted.

Just go and bathe in the pale yellow light as it lingers over the Seine.

Warm your heart.

Stay and sit in your apartment safe, alone, lonely.

Go and discover a new you.

Who am I?

Reinvent yourself. He did.

It's been a year. Yesterday.


Paris – a demain.