A Kept Avenue in France


The moment you feel you’ve gained independence is when when you’ve moved away with no supervision. When you make choices of your own to better understand how to navigate through things. At first you may feel you’re like Dorothy, being jostled around in a thick tornado of bad doings. Then, just like Dorothy you end up in a land of OZ. My OZ is a paradise called Paris. A place where I’ve gained my right to be on my own, to be independent. Densely populated with people and palaces yet to be discovered by my wandering eyes. Where every feeling inside springs onto the monuments you encounter. Where dreams flow into gutters attached to streets with lovers. Where I will spend a day with a baguette and a starry sky as my lullaby. Only in reality I can’t click my heels to return home. I can only look through old photographs and stored memories that spread through my veins. Memories are just as vital as blood.

Without memories you are only a thin layer of transparent skin. No, I’ve never been there, never even smelt it’s air or flew over it’s visage. But I know, I know it’s where I was always meant to reside. The thickets of it’s majestic tranquility. It’s fabrics trailing behind frail legs that walk so buoyantly. The city pf light, it’s peeled away the darkness to reveal a new beginning of what life is now. I’m even in love with the land around it. The countryside with farms filled with livestock and houses waiting to be revived from their uncommon heritage. It’s everything, and yet it’s nothing. It’s nothing because I haven’t experienced it, yet, because my adolescence has kept me jailed.

Paris can bring out an emancipated dream and churn it, make it real. It’s newborn scenery; my innocence has died off and is replaced with independence. I have the wrinkled tickets in my back pocket, my luggage bloated with belongings. My mind cleared of what I’ve left, with only goodbyes to mock my exit. When the shallow waves grew deeper and deeper.

A kept avenue instilled in me, now raveling into my own path, no, my own road. It’s not so much as a journey, but more of a destination ready to be met. I’ve climbed the barbwired fences of yesterday and took a leap into a pool of questions. I may not drown, but lay on my back and float on top of all and breathe into a wind of now. So as the sun still rises and I am still as I am, I know one day I will shed away the fear and board a plane to Paris.

About the Author:I am a 14 year old girl who’s moved from place to place.  It never my dream to move to Paris until I learned just how much I wanted to be on my own in such a unknown place. For a while it’s felt like I’ve just been waiting for something to happen. So instead, I write about all the things I want. I now reside in Cape Cod, a small place on the tip of Massachusetts. It’s not a place I wish to remain. One day I hope to be writing about my life in France.

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