First time Alex came to Paris he was just a kid. He remembered the trembling lights and the rejoicing Champs-Elysees governing the whole city of clear lights over on the grey sky.
’Do you like Paris?’ his mother asked and both brothers kept in silent.
‘Do you know, my brother, you are going to die in France?’ Alex asked in silent.
His brother waited one second before he smiled, like he would understand the unspoken question. You could feel your blood, blood covering the veins, walking slowly blood creating clots and threating to stop. Did you felt your brother’s blood falling in the streets?
He turned back while they were waiting for his father. Where was he?
Years later, Alex walked across the packed streets and imagined the impressionist painters mixing colors and forms, imagining a different world with the lost parts of time and shadows… but those worlds were lost in time. Paris was always like a dream, always like the distant memory of the lover that returns to that little bar. It’s late at night but they don’t want to look at the clock, trying to escape, trying to stop the time and make the eternal night.
Alex looked back and remembered past and future into bright colors and black and white images. Where are you, brother? Your soul escaped from your body in a lonely road in France… but your soul traveled with our mother here, to the place we loved, to the eternal city of eternal dreams. I can still feel your breathing words, I can still remember your lost worlds.
Come back, brother. Again and for the first time.