The first time I saw the Eiffel Tower, I was disinterested. I was sitting at the back of the car while my cousins pointed out, “Look, there it is!” My lethargy was burning inside my skin, so I just gave a small smile and a blinking of the eyes, “Where?” I looked out of the window.
There it was, a large piece of metal match-sticks put together. I can see its tip towering above the stark penthouses of Paris. The sky was a in a faded shade of blue, just fresh after the rain. The land was wet, and so are the car’s windows. They look like tears. Less of a majesty, more of a thing.
Someone used to tell me her lifelong dream is to reach Paris just to see this. This. In the photographs, it looked like a glorious piece of art, erected in the middle of the most romantic city in the world. Right now, Eiffel to me, was just like the little replica I held afterwards. A small scrap in a big, wide universe.
When I first saw you, my heart stirred. It was roused from its sleep. You were beautiful. I decided that moment that you were the one I like. Curious steps forward. I want to hear your voice; clearer, louder, as if whispering by my ear. The brushing of skin. The smell of your fragrance; sweat and breath intermixed. My soul pounded inside me like it wanted to get out and attach itself to you.
I lingered around beside your shadow. You were so near. So near that my hands can actually wrap themselves around you. It was as if I can hear your inner discourse, reflected from the mirrors of your eyes. You look at me. Gazes stuck. A trigger. A switch of fear, and I stepped back.
Everything has lost its splendor. I am looking at another person. A blurry face. A feeling unsure.
You were so beautiful from afar.