My Purest Love Was In Paris 🗼
With all due respect to my husband, my purest love was in Paris. My hubby knows about my adventure there – 5 years before I met him.
Azzedine was the purest love I’ve had, pretty much in my mind, at least. Unconditional love. The joy-provoking, innocent, deep, wild, crazy, intense, free, no strings-attached, not expecting anything back, in-the-moment, spontaneous kind-of love. Sometimes silently. Sometimes just a look with the eyes. Very child-like… 💑
I was the one who had to make the first move because he was rather shy at first. If I look back & think hard enough, I believe I gave him some fresh sweets I had bought from a French boulangerie. That was my way of breaking the ice.
We kept connecting with our eyes in the guest TV room where he was working as a hotel receptionist. I felt so drawn to him even though I didn't speak French & knew it would be difficult to communicate. The only articles I brought with me were a tiny translation book & a mini-calculator that was similar to Google-translating software that we have nowadays. Not much to work with honestly. We communicated through alot of gestures, eye gazing, silence, mind telepathy & broken pieces of French & English.
The greatest technological software had not been released to the masses yet – the smartphone – but it was the best I could do for the time.
No Googling to see each other's profiles on Facebook, not caring how popular (or unpopular) our posts were, not being jealous of each other’s social media accounts or caring who was more famous than the other. We didn’t care because we didn't have the technology yet to even have the slightest idea what the other person was all about.
I had NO clue. He had NO clue.
And that's why it was so PURE! 💓
The thing I remember about him most was his soulfulness. He would watch me sleep sometimes & I would wake up & catch him doing it. Then he'd playfully tell me I was snoring. He always saw goodness & beauty in my actions. He never talked down about me. Even when his friends warned about me being “American” & that our love was “impossible”, whatever that supposedly meant, he only saw pure light. 💛
And even if he didn't agree with me, it was always done in a playful way. Hinting sweetly. Playfully innocent.
He never manhandled me. He was just the most non-violent & authentically genuine human being who always told me that the main reason he loved me was because I was wild & crazy. In a good way, not a derogatory way.
Just out of the blue, looking in my eyes, saying “Do you know why I love you?”
I'd play along & go “Why, Azzedine?”
“Because you are CRAZY, that's why!!!”
And then we'd just giggle & laugh…
Here is a photo showing how crazy HE was! 😆 Jumping in the River Seine!
Those were the innocent gestures he meant by crazy. The small acts of joyous impetuousness that people who love each other have.
The most unconditional love from a man who never tried to mold me into anything. If I jumped up & down from joy in public with him, he was all in. Never embarrassed. Just never cared if I laughed too loud or broke into spontaneous affection. It never bothered him if people thought we were too touchy-feely in public.
I remember one night when we traveled all the way up to the Eiffel Tower & graffiti-ed our initials on the inside of it, along with all the other lovers who did. We felt like little kids.
He was an Algerian-Muslim who was a couple years older than me & was studying at a university in Paris to be a teacher. The conflict of the Algerian Civil War had made him move to France. There was not alot of knowledge I had about the war going on but he didn't care. He didn't care if I knew about his religion or his nationality & he never implied I was stupid for not knowing. He just accepted me & didn't try to change me at all. Just pure acceptance.
I remember having a dream about him a couple months ago where he looked a little older & his hair was a little grayer & he was a little chubbier. I’m not sure what it meant, although I do believe he was communicating to me through the collective consciousness of the subconscious mind when asleep. Like a “mind-meld”. Like we were thrust into another realm together & no matter how far away we were from each other physically, our spirits weren't.
He was one man that wasn't afraid to express his vulnerable & soft side. Sometimes he would just gaze at me, not say a word & a tear would roll down his cheek. He knew I only had 3 months in Paris & would be going home after that & he was always aware of how precious our time was together. Like he savored every second because he knew there would come a day when I would be gone. That's why he never took me for granted.
Maybe that’s why I wrote this. Maybe I feel taken for granted & my memories wander to a place & time when I felt pure magic.
Is it possible to feel this ever again?
I feel like I’m caught in a time warp & can’t get out & I’m wandering inside trying to poke holes in the bubble to get out. If I had a time machine right now, this would be the moment in time I would propel myself to.
Wherever you are Azzedine, I miss you. I know it would have lasted if I studied my French a little more & you studied your English a little more.
Maybe, though, you were meant to be just another memory of mine. Fragmented, but still a crazy memory.
“Tu me manques, Azzedine. Tu me manques.” 💌