"I feel like I’m fading, Paris. So much to do. I don’t want to do. And I miss you. A little. Too much. Too."

"It’s like that. But it’s not that. Is this the price? You pay. For not choosing. To walk. In a previous scenario. Where the weather was rough. The road was dark. But the distance was short. Potentially short. And you said yes. To a fast drive. That took you. To this transit. In the first place..."

(Read the full text on imaginedparis.com)

"Here – I’m here with you, Paris. A bit sleepy today and almost bailed out of writing the memoir after the 70s dance party at La Coupole last night, but no hangover – I drank cleanly: champagne only. I’ve been in you for a week already, this time. I had to fly to Edinburgh for work the other day – a last-minute assignment as usual, but I flew straight back to you the next day."

"Here, my life in London is fading..."

(Read the full text on imaginedparis.com)

"Pressure’s off, Paris. There has never been any. Pressure’s off. To be there with you fully or to be here in London mostly – I travel around a lot anyway. Pressure’s off because I can do whatever I want – always have been able to – anyway, not because I always have the resources before I make a decision, but because I am brave enough to take the risks, every single time, and I will only be brave enough when it feels right to me – yup: I’m an emotional being, intensely so..."

(Read the full text on imaginedparis.com)