Paris remembers my love through the years. The city of light has many secrets. I remember the smell of lilacs. I walk through the spring rain. Every street tells a story. This city is a part of me now. My memories are safe here. True love never truly fades away.Every corner of this city tells a story. Even the pavement in Paris remembers my love. I walk through the streets of light and feel the echoes of the past. The spring rain smells of lilac flowers and old secrets.
It was a time of finding truth in the most unexpected places. The Seine flows like a long, silver ribbon of memories. Each bridge we crossed was a new chapter in our personal history.
Pariz pamti
✦
Pariz nisu razglednice niti imena ulica koja svi znaju.
Pariz su jorgovani kraj pruge, gdje vlak ne staje a srce ipak ostane.
Pariz su jorgovani kraj pruge, gdje vlak ne staje a srce ipak ostane.
Pariz su ogoljena stabla što zimi stoje bez zaštite, i lijepa su jer ništa ne glume. Jer su preživjela i još gledaju u nebo.
Nebo nad Parizom ne pritiska. Ono čuva. Oblaci prolaze tiho, kao misli koje ne bole nego ostaju.
Zrak u Parizu pamti. U njemu su glasovi davnih ljudi, koraci kraljeva i naroda, ne kao sjećanje, nego kao prisustvo. Kao da svi još dišu da bi grad imao dušu.
U Parizu jutra nemaju žurbu. Svjetlo se spušta niz krovove kao ruka preko čela onome koga voliš da ga ne probudiš naglo.
Kiša ovdje ne kvari dan. Ona razgovara s kamenom, pere tragove ljubavi i ostavlja miris koji kaže: još si tu, još dišeš.
Pariz ima mjesta za svakoga. Za one koji dolaze praznih ruku, za umorne, za zaljubljene i za one koji tek uče kako se voli.
Ako je čudno osjećati, neka je. Njegova ljepota se ne objašnjava ona se prepozna, jer ne dolazi iz ukrasa nego iz istine.
Ništa što je jednom bilo duboko proživljeno ne nestaje potpuno. Zemlja pamti. Zrak pamti. Pariz pamti.
Paris se souvient
✦
Paris, ce ne sont pas les cartes postales ni les noms de rues que tout le monde connaît. Paris, ce sont les lilas près de la voie ferrée, où le train ne s’arrête pas mais où le cœur reste.
Paris, ce sont les arbres nus qui se tiennent sans protection en hiver, et ils sont beaux car ils ne feignent rien. Parce qu’ils ont survécu et regardent encore le ciel.
Le ciel au-dessus de Paris n’oppresse pas. Il protège. Les nuages passent doucement, comme des pensées qui ne font pas mal mais qui restent.
L’air à Paris se souvient. Il porte les voix des gens d’autrefois, les pas des rois et du peuple, non comme un souvenir, mais comme une présence.
À Paris, les matins ne se pressent pas. La lumière descend sur les toits comme une main sur le front de celui qu’on aime.
La pluie ici ne gâche pas la journée. Elle parle avec la pierre, lave les traces de l’amour et laisse un parfum qui dit : tu es encore là, tu respires encore.
Sa beauté ne s’explique pas elle se reconnaît, car elle ne vient pas des ornements mais de la vérité.
Rien de ce qui a été une fois profondément vécu ne disparaît complètement. La terre se souvient. L’air se souvient. Paris se souvient.
Paris Remembers
✦
Paris is not postcards nor street names everyone knows. Paris is the lilacs by the tracks, where the train does not stop but the heart remains.
Paris is the bare trees standing without protection in winter, and they are beautiful because they pretend nothing. Because they survived and still look at the sky.
The sky over Paris does not press down. It guards. Clouds pass quietly, like thoughts that do not hurt but stay.
The air in Paris remembers. It holds the voices of ancient people, the steps of kings and commoners, not as a memory, but as a presence.
In Paris, mornings do not rush. Light descends down the roofs like a hand over the forehead of one you love.
Rain here does not spoil the day. It talks with the stone, washes away traces of love and leaves a scent that says: you are still here, you are still breathing.
Its beauty is not explained it is recognized, because it comes not from ornaments but from truth.
Nothing that was once deeply lived disappears completely. The earth remembers. The air remembers. Paris remembers.