Photographed and written March 22, 2018
When you see a girl alone at a cafe in Paris, you must assume she's waiting for someone, because it's Paris – the city of love. And, she is beautiful, she must be loved by someone.
So I sat, patiently awaiting her lover to swing the door open in a rush to not be any later than he already was, give her the kiss she was waiting for, and fall in love with them until I had someplace else to be.
I ordered another coffee to go with my unfinished cigarette, then some lunch, and an hour or so later, I sat still waiting, as did she. The lonely girl had a beer, two elegantly rolled cigarettes and then a coffee, respectively in that order. There was still no sign of a tall, dark haired Frenchman that I could assume she called her own. The girl's gaze, watching pedestrians pass by the window, turning toward the front door every time it opened had me convinced she was a woman waiting.
On the other hand, maybe she was just another me. Always searching, coming so incredibly close to finding that one, you know of whom I speak of, and then they vanish never to come back. But even after they’ve left you still gaze out the window hopeful that one day you will spot him through the tempered glass lighting a cigarette outside your favorite cafe. To be with you.
The girl finished her beer, wrote something on the napkin in front of her, put it in her pocket and left.
— thoughts from a lonely girl in paris