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PROLOGUE "Parisian Eyes"All living beings are victims in one sense or another. The organisms on the bottom of the food chain exist for the survival of creatures that are stronger and have developed more complex traits which contribute to their place in the circle of life. Yet every mortal tries to fulfill its designated purpose. Sometimes these destinies are very implicit and must be discovered individually; other times they are obvious. Human beings, the species considered the most highly developed intellectually, are at the top of the food chain but they are also prey, yet not consumed by other creatures as often as their own species. Consumption of humans is emotional rather than physical—they forfeit their intelligent reputations as they are blindly seduced by emotions that they think they can control and they become victims of love, victims of hate, victims of circumstance, victims of fate, victims of death, victims of life, but the most powerful force to be a victim of is deception, because one does not always know when treachery occurs. And the mind and the heart are the greatest deceivers of all.“Don’t trust your mind, trust your heart—but the two are often confused.” –Pascal.We sat side by side, knees touching, hidden from sight on the dark steps next to la Seine looking up at Paris’ lights, and listening to the quiet silence that surrounded us amidst the sounds of cars and horns that drowned out the voices of the city’s many lovers. Speaking would have disturbed the powerful beauty in the air, penetrated by the lights, intentionally romantic like a candlelit dinner. I saw You lean toward me; it would have been the perfect time to kiss. But instead I looked into your eyes and whispered “Don’t let the sensuality of the city deceive your heart. Paris can be very seductive. C’est la ville d’amour.” My thoughts wandered, traversing the day’s events, seeing You laugh with your mouth open wide, curly head tilted back and blackish brown eyes slightly closed. I couldn’t remember the details of any important actions that took place or visiting any historical sights except when I noticed that we walked past Notre Dame innumerable times. In front of this famous gargoyle infested church exists a square which is marked as the center of Paris; actually it’s a small circle. The legend is that if you stand in this exact spot, you will return to Paris. We stood there together watching beggars hassle tourists and I wondered if we would return to the city of love together or separately. I wasn’t sure so I engulfed myself in the feeling of being with You…and I realized how the energy between us intensified with the beauty of the setting sun, not that I could actually see it fall beneath the horizon. The short skyscrapers were blocking our view but perhaps we weren’t even paying attention, distracted by love and moments that would soon die and be reborn as unreliable memories that change like the weather.I think that You were also excited by the dimness of Paris, with its fine architecture, both old and new, scattered throughout the streets that were easy to get lost in. Sometimes in order to feel a place or an emotion, you must lose yourself in it. My favorite museum is le Musée d’Orsay, because it was converted from a train station and the geometrically squared ceilings allow natural light to illuminate the sculptures and paintings in a fantastic way, revealing the perfections of their creators. I consider it an insult to artists when their paintings are hung inside after they were painted beneath the sunlight, sunsets, sunrises or moonbeams. This museum considers the artists intensions. The impressionists would have appreciated seeing their splendor displayed in a place that used to have another purpose, a place where people always came and went without ever stopping to look around and notice the small details of the doors, walls, floors, ceilings and other people rushing by. Their work was blurred and they called themselves realists because in actuality, most human beings don’t pay attention to the strangers they pass on the streets in Paris or any other city. “Impressionists” had been the term that a reporter had invented when criticizing their work, but now it’s a compliment, like being called a “Beat” author of the 1950s. Not every talented writer or painter finds a place in a unique and prestigious category but they all dream about it. Many people are too busy worrying about getting to their dream destination and they forget to enjoy the journey. It’s like living life by looking forward to death and forgetting to enjoy the precious gift of a heartbeat and breath. My life is the journey—that’s why I can’t stay in one place for very long and I have no destination—only to go somewhere but I’ll never arrive. Like a train conductor who lives on the train. However, as I look out the window of life, it moves slowly and I’m able to pinpoint the things that other people can’t see because their trains are moving too fast. But I only notice beauty, the things that I’m attracted to: the tiny specks of granite in the sidewalk that sparkle when they reflect off of the sun, the shape of clouds through poplar tree branches, and the dark haired, blue eyed little girl wearing a blue and green plaid dress who just ran past me with her brown shoe laces untied. But this day, the transformed train station was closed and so was your heart.Earlier in the afternoon, You gave no inkling to idea that You still wanted to be with me but I wondered how we ended up in this beautiful city with each other. After our mutual separation, I’d always felt like the rejected one.“I want you…” You whispered slowly in a voice so low that I heard it only because the cars above us were stopped at a red light. La Seine gently lapped the banks like a lullaby and I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort, like I was in the right place and didn’t want to leave. You put one arm around me in a brotherly type hug. And then your voice became stronger, as if the first three words You had uttered gave you courage to say more. “I know what feels right. I know our history—we’ve always known each other and I believe that you will always be in my life. Right now, there is nothing and no one I want, except you. I don’t care where we go or what we do, as long as we’re together.” You always knew what to say, to anyone—You stressed yourself out trying to help everyone, trying to make everyone feel like your best friend—You gave yourself away and forgot to hold on to the tiny piece of you that reminded You of who You are. I didn’t know this yet so I turned to face You and we put our arms around each other, holding one another very tightly like two long lost friends. The night covered us with its deep darkness and summer humidity. I felt a physical pressure, in the air and in your pants. My longing desire for You was so suspenseful that we could both feel it heightened in thickness of the romantic air, as the Eiffel tower loomed over us, tall and erect, suggesting another phallic. Not touching my lips to yours made me want You more.“Wait until we leave Paris. I want to make sure that you will know how you feel. I know how I love you and want you but I also know how easy it is to fall back into the pattern that we created together out of love, in love. And right now I want your love so badly that I can barely stand it. But I don’t want you to deceive me the way that Paris deceives you. And when we leave this beautiful city, we’ll both know what’s real.” But imagining your naked body thrusting against my sweaty stomach made me tremble, starting from the inner core of my solar plexus and the shaking made its way out of my skin like a tiny explosion. Goosebumps appeared on the skin on my arms but not because of the cool air and I could feel my womanhood throbbing.Then I stared into your beautiful eyes and the dam of my resistance broke as your black vision lakes melted into my pale ponds; our tongues soon followed their path so we submitted to each other, to Paris, and to the night. Our souls were united together, under the stars, in the seductive lights that showered such an immense passion between two people, that we thought we were in heaven so we left earth as we realized that the love we share is stronger than any other fairy tale or impression of splendor. Your knees were chaffed by the concrete and by something too beautiful to allow room for pain while my back scraped against the concrete that felt like a soft pillow of hard sand. And we reached the stars that looked down at us as they listened to our moans of pure ecstasy that echoed off of the banks of the Seine but were drowned out by the heavy summer traffic of tourists in taxis. Your pelvic thrusts transformed into my moans as they shot upward, the opposite direction of a shooting star, as we climaxed and felt the stars. Our love speaks louder than all of the sounds of Paris at night and we made love all night; your hands turned into mine as we you knew exactly where to touch me with your fingers and we melted inside out into each other. Your tongue, as it licked my tendersilk in circles, was wetter than la Seine and it matched the circles of the cycles of our love making as we stopped and rested before starting again. And as our desires were fulfilled by one another’s bodies, I was given wings and soared with the angels in heaven because I didn’t think that an feeling on earth could feel any better and you filled me with your whole physical and spiritual being and I couldn’t even tell which one of us was me and which one was You because we were one.We awoke early, lying naked beside la Seine, disturbed by lights of tomorrow while the illumination of last night had faded into the misty morning. I was harshly blinded by the rising sun but the rawness of my back hurt worse than opening my eyes, which eyes could see more than just the sunlight. Le Tour Eiffel loomed in the morning glow, remaining erect, a permanent phallus and reminder of the previous night, but the ground was cold and gritty and I had to wipe dust off of my hands after I stood up. I watched You inhale your first cigarette of the new day and smoke came out of your mouth when You looked at me and said, “I love you.” Your face needed to be shaved and your dark hair stood out in every direction as curly hair tends to do after a night of luscious love making and little sleep. I noticed your receding hairline; it showed more than usual, or maybe I hadn’t detected it before.I said “I love you, too,” and we dressed quickly to hide our nakedness from the day and from anyone who happened to be walking their dog at dawn, before starting our way back to le metro. Our eyes smiled at each other as we walked arm in arm and I could feel the results of last night’s pleasure dripping out of me as we walked but it was only another reminder of a passionate night with you and I didn’t care. That’s when we stopped walking and You whispered in my ear, tickling it, “I love Paris” in a sullen tone that didn’t match the meaning of your words. You looked like You could have slept for another ten hours and You would have if You weren’t in a rush to leave the city that warps lovers’ hearts. “Yes, it’s a beautiful city” I agreed but I couldn’t help thinking that I had deceived myself by giving in to the moment, by giving in to You, because I had no will power or care to stop myself, and I loved every second of it. Then we kissed again, our bodies and souls still craving what we had deprived them of for so long. But your tongue had lost its sweet, beautiful taste of sugar and love, reduced to morning breath and tobacco smoke. I knew that mine was not misleading me and when I opened my eyes after the kiss ended and looked at your face, I didn’t see You. I saw You in Paris and I recognized the difference between the You I knew and the one I had just kissed. The lights blinded your mind last night and mine was opened today by the natural light. I had become an impressionist, able to see events that are frequently ignored. I still thought You are beautiful but I was scared by the expression on your face that I didn’t recognize, the part of You that I had been blinded to; truth. And I became afraid of myself as I realized that I, too, had been seduced by Paris’ lights and I had allowed myself to lose control of my own actions, as I submitted to someone I no longer knew.